


Sulfur and Silk

by TheBdelliumLady



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Norse Religion & Lore, Thor (Comics), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Attempted Sexual Assault, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Gothic, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Thorki - Freeform, Victorian Attitudes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-01-04 21:30:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 92,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21204386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBdelliumLady/pseuds/TheBdelliumLady
Summary: In late 1890s London spiritualism is the height of fashion and no mystic is more sought after than the mysterious French widow, Madame Loki Melusine. After years spent adventuring in Africa, Lord Thor Odinson returns to London a very different man than the one who left it. Behind a facade of grace and sophistication, Loki hides many secrets that could get him killed, or worse, locked in an asylum. When a hex forces Thor to seek Loki’s help, things go terribly wrong. Can Loki trust Thor to keep his secret? Is Thor the cruel and selfish man he seems?





	1. The Magician

**Author's Note:**

> A Victorian Gothic Thorki AU that started its life as an RP with the lovely and talented norse-god-loki on Tumblr. With her permission, I have begun reworking this monster into a proper fic. Thanks to dear captaincupcakekey for editing and acting as my witch consultant. A huge thank you to sherlocksmolmes for encouraging me to even attempt this madness and giving me much needed feedback. Major thanks to the wonderful ktspree13 who has offered to act as my beta/editor.
> 
> This story is dramatic and a bit dark at times, fair warning that there are some mild non-con elements and rape is discussed in later chapters. The Victorian mental health system was a nightmare. I write Loki as intersex and gender fluid. (I say gender fluid bc I’m not sure he qualifies as Non-Binary. In the modern world, Loki would prefer presenting as femme, but would not consider himself female. I picture this Loki would be very much like Jonathan Van Ness with a harder edge.) Of course, in the late 1890's they didn't have those labels and there was no option to ignore the gender binary, so Loki chooses to live as a woman. Loki presents female to the world and thinks of himself in male pronouns.
> 
> Btw Thor and Loki are not related.
> 
> Each chapter is named for a tarot card.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Magician and the Emperor 
> 
> Loki and Thor meet and sparks fly over champagne and tarot cards. There is a curse and Thor does something he might regret. Secrets are revealed and scandals created.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Magician:  
Upright: willpower, desire, creation, manifestation, Reversed: trickery, illusions, out of touch

Another glittering evening spent among the most elite of London’s high society and Loki was bored. His long, dramatic black gown was cutting into his torso and his hands were growing sweaty in his black silk gloves. The rooms were over warm and crowded and he had been politely refusing to perform a séance for the last two hours. His antsy host, Lady Dorset, had been frantic since eight o’clock because the young lord she had thrown the welcome party for was late. In her desperation, Lady Dorset came to Loki, Madame Melusine as he was known, hoping that his mystic gifts might entertain the guests until her errant lord’s arrival. Unmoved, Loki declined, as he was a guest and not an entertainer that evening.

As far as anyone knew, he was Madame Loki Melusine de Villeduval, a wealthy Parisian widow and sought after spiritualist. Fashionable, mysterious, and bohemian, the Madame was popular wherever she went. Every few years she traveled to some new, fascinating city and took the high society by storm. She had a string of rumored, but totally unproven, lovers, and the most fashionably scandalous acquaintances. It was a delicate balancing act, but Madame Melusine always skirted the line of propriety, staying just shy of infractions too great to be overlooked. She made the most scintillating gossip. Secrets and rumors Loki wore like petticoats, many and layered, creating an elegant and artificial form. No one would guess that under the silk and satin, the Madame had not been born a woman, or, not fully, anyway. 

While not a lady, he had money and beauty to recommend him and a stylish Parisian accent that put many a better born woman to shame. Slim and statuesque with creamy skin and black hair, his eyes were Paris green and his smile coquettish. Madame Loki Melusine, the beautiful young widow with the mystic gift and clever tongue was at the top of every guest list in London. He had caused a fashion for black lace and emeralds that could be seen reflected in the gathered ladies.

“Really, my dear lady,” Loki purred in his smooth, honeyed voice. “Did you not say this lord— Odinson, was it?—has spent the last six years in darkest Africa? The man is probably as wild as the beasts he hunted.” Fanning himself gracefully, Loki shrugged, “He’s likely off howling at the moon.”

Wringing her plump hands, Lady Dorset tittered, “You are such a wicked creature, Madame! Lord Odinson is a well-educated and well-bred young man. The earl of Asgard, you know.”

Chuckling, Loki suggested sweetly, “And very well endowed with a great inheritance, I hear. How lucky that he returns to England now, after your daughter’s second season. For her sake, I do hope he is handsome,” Loki teased with a smirk. _And has a fondness for silly girls,_ Loki did not say.

Julia Dorset was a sweet girl, if simple, and prone to becoming over excited. At sixteen, the girl had become enamored with Loki and did her best to copy his style, though being short and plump like her mother, her efforts bore limited results. Tonight, little Julia was trying to carry off a green silk gown and failing. Parisian green was not everyone’s color, poor dear, and mutton sleeves were certainly not for every body type. Loki could make a Gibson girl cry—and might have done so if bored enough—and was the object of much envy and admiration, while Julia Dorset was all creampuffs and frills.

Spotting another friend, Miss Victoria Fowlhurst, Loki made a swift escape and went to speak with the young woman. Giggling, he flicked his long dark hair off his white shoulder and took both his friend’s hands in his. Making a show of being surprised to see her, Loki covered his flight and ensured Lady Dorset did not follow.

“How glad I am to see you,” Loki whispered as he drew Victoria into a window alcove. “This evening is so dull I wish I had stayed at home. Have you heard anything about this mythical Lord Odinson who has been running wild on the Dark Continent? From the stories, I expect him to be the offspring of Hercules and Adonis!”

“He has a large estate in Essex and more money than the Duke of Buckingham,” Victoria gossiped delightedly. “They say he is very handsome, but with that kind of money, he could be a monkey in waistcoat and they would sing his praises.”

Snorting, Loki snatched a glass of champagne from a passing server and retorted, “A monkey in a waistcoat would at least liven up this drab affair and might have arrived on time. Apparently this lord has left his manners in Africa.”

Just then, there was a small disturbance by the door and Loki heard the victorious crowing of Lady Dorset, who soon ushered a strapping, blond man into the room. The Lord Odinson, obviously, was very well dressed and a head taller than the rest of the party and as broad as an oarsman with the carriage of a fighter. He was an impressive specimen, but wholly out of place in such fashionable and polite society. A dandy fop this was not. This was a man who had killed his own food and slept under the stars, all things the genteel of London would swoon to contemplate.

Loki had been imagining some rough, craggy faced hunter in a pith helmet with powder burns on his cheek. The man he had been picturing would look out of place among the aristocracy of London high society, which was correct, but not for the reasons Loki thought. This man was beautiful and wild, a lion in a suit, a god among mortal men. He was huge and powerful, more than a sportsman, and he did not look like the fashionable men in the magazines who were all slim dandies. This was a man made for a different, rougher age.

“Well,” Loki purred darkly. “Un beau sauvage! He is a giant! Poor little Julia Dorset can stand no chance, even with her dowry.”

Twice her height with eyes that burned like blue flames, this man would never take a second look at a sweet little thing like Julia. This man was a wild creature in the form of a human. It made Loki’s body grow hot and a tingle trip down his spine. Smirking, he fanned himself, feeling his cheeks heat.

***

Without a doubt, this was the most boring evening of his life, and Thor was including the night he spent in a tree waiting for a leopard that had never come. The tree would have been preferable to attending a stuffy high society party packed with desperate, eligible ladies. Six years in Africa had done little to curb his wild streak and he had no interest in being shackled to some insipid virgin who would be as enthusiastic in bed as a dead fish. Africa had been an adventure, but now he just wanted to live easy and spend some of the inordinate wealth left to him by his late father.

Had it not been for his great aunt’s nagging, he would not have bothered to attend. He suspected the whole evening was schemed up by the old lady because she was hoping to match him with her friend, Lady Dorset’s, dullard of a daughter. To be sure, he had never asked anyone to throw him a welcome party and if he had, he would not have chosen this host or venue. Not even a bull rhinoceros was as ornery and stubborn as little old ladies determined to marry off their young relations. Well, his aunt could browbeat him into attending, but she had not dictated how he must act when there.

Being deliberately, rudely late had been a calculated move to put Lady Dorset off him, as was arriving smelling of brandy and cigars, but the woman was tenacious. He had whiled away three hours drinking at White’s Club before deigning to arrive and the lady had welcomed him like a returning hero. He might have been Alexander entering Egypt the way she carried on. It made him wonder if there was not something the matter with the daughter if her mother was so desperate to marry her off.

Normally, when a family was that determined to marry off a girl after only her second season it meant she was used goods, which did not bother Thor much, but the possibility of being saddled with a girl carrying another man’s child was not at all appealing. The girl could be mentally unstable or borderline mad, that was another reason families rushed to rid themselves of their young women. Perhaps she was just very dimwitted. Whatever the reason, he had no desire to become better acquainted with Julia Dorset.

When Lady Dorset insisted on introducing him to every guest, he snatched a flute of champagne from a passing server and began trying to drown his boredom in drink. Being towed around the assembly by Lady Dorset was rather like being escorted by a very chatty chintz armchair; both were squat, overstuffed, covered in obnoxious floral patterns, and topped by a white lace doily. Had his mother not raised him to be a gentleman, on pain of her eternal displeasure, Thor would have escaped out the nearest window at the first opportunity. Only his conviction that the ghost of Countess Frigga Odinson would very likely return from the grave to chastise him kept him polite.

God, but parties like this were dull! Trapped in a one-sided conversation with an elderly gentleman who had been somehow acquainted with his father, Thor let his eyes wander around the room. There were many advantages to his unusual height, one of which was being able to see over the heads of any crowd, and he used it now to search for attractive women. If he could not spend his evening with his friends at White’s he could at least pass it enjoying the sight of a beautiful lady. No doubt, Lady Dorset hoped he would favor her daughter Julia, but she would be disappointed. The girl was a younger, quieter version of her mother and the very notion of spending the rest of the evening, never mind the rest of his life, with her was utterly insupportable. Julia Dorset was pretty enough for him to consider wooing her for fun, but never for marriage.

Lost in his own thoughts, and still unable to break away from the nattering old man, a spot of black suddenly caught his eye. Amid the multitude of vibrant colors and excessive frills, the simple black gown stood out sharply, as did the woman who wore it. Sitting in a window alcove with another young lady, the dark woman seemed perfectly at ease, despite looking so very out of place. Then she turned, as if sensing his gaze, and met his eyes with a coy little smirk. In that moment, Thor was reminded of a black leopard he had hunted. It was something about the steady, unblinking green eyes with which she regarded him. Without breaking eye contact, she turned back to her friend, as if daring him to come to her.

Not caring, he interrupted the gentleman’s droning to asked, “Lady Dorset, the women over by the window, the one in black. Who is she?”

“Oh, that is Madame Melusine,” she told him conspiratorially. “She is the most celebrated spiritualist in London.”

“Spiritualist?”

Waving her fan dramatically, Lady Dorset clucked, “Yes, my lord! A mystic, a seer, a spiritualist. She reads cards and palms, conducts séances, and speaks with the dead. No one has been able to prove how she does it.” Seeing how his eyes lingered on the Madame, she added dryly, “She is very odd, but then widows often are.”

“Is Madame Melusine her stage name,” he asked, amused.

“The Madame does not perform for the public and as far as we know, that is her name,” she said dismissively. “As I said she is very odd…and French," she concluded, as though the seer’s nationality was somehow more reprehensible than her peculiarity.

Humming thoughtfully, Thor said, “I should like to be introduced. This spirituality craze is new to me. Perhaps I should have my fortune told.”

Reluctantly, Lady Dorset ushered him over to the window and introduced him to Miss Victoria Fowlhurst and Madame Loki Melusine. He kissed the girl’s hand first, though he kept his eyes fixed on the other, who regarded him with exactly the expression he imagined a sphinx might have. When he kissed the Madame’s hand, he dared to linger a moment longer than was seemly, and saw the challenge lurking behind her serene, porcelain mask.

“Lord Thor has expressed an interest in the mystic arts, Madame,” Lady Dorset told the lady in black, who merely smiled at him and said nothing.

“I have been reliably informed that you are the best spiritualist in London,” Thor put in, offering her his most charming smile. When she only inclined her head a little, he went on, “Might I trouble you for a reading, Madame?”

She blinked up at him slowly, exactly like a cat, and purred, “You’re in luck, my lord.” Her voice was surprisingly deep, but smooth and musical, like a cello. “I happen to have brought my deck. Lady Dorset,” she said without breaking eye contact with him. “May we make use of your drawing room?”

***

With a sly and knowing smile, Loki stood and drew the man into a small, dimly lit drawing room down the hall. He sat gracefully and gestured for Lord Odinson to take the chair on the far side of the small card table. Removing his gilded tarot cards from a dark green velvet bag embroidered with gold symbols, he separated the Greater Arcana from the deck shuffled them expertly. Then he spread them carefully on the expanse of mahogany between them. They glimmered in the candle light; the cards waited in a pregnant silence.

When the young lord reached out to pick up a card without thought, Loki stopped him with a small sound, warning, “No, no, My Lord, do not be hasty. Let them work on you. Feel their pull,” he instructed silkily as he demonstrated the proper manner of moving one’s hand above the deck.

Lord Odinson tried again, more judiciously, and slowly chose five cards all the while holding Loki’s gaze. Without blinking or looking down, Loki knew the cards he had drawn. A good reader knew their cards and could sense the ones chosen before looking at them. Loki was a very good seer. Taking the five cards, Loki slowly placed them in the shape of a cross. A mixed deck, Loki knew, not surprising of a man whose aura was as charged and heavy as a thunderstorm.

Flipping over the first card, he said, “Death, interesting.” He flipped each card in turn, saying coolly, “Temperance reversed, The Wheel of Fortune, The Sun, and Strength,” Loki read calmly, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “You needn’t worry, I see no death in your future…though it does cling to you like a lady’s perfume.”

Tapping the Death card, Loki explained, “This means there are changes in your future; new beginnings, a metamorphosis. Now this,” he gestured at the Temperance card where it sat upside down. “This tells me you have lived a life of extremes and excess, lacking balance. You grew up wanting for nothing. After the death of your parents, you sought out change and challenge. Fortune’s Wheel signifies change and the coming of your fate. The Sun and Strength say you have good fortune to come, if you navigate these changes wisely…You have it in you to be compassionate and good…Noble, even…though I think you have not cultivated these gifts as you ought.”

Stroking the glossy cards, Loki considered telling the lord what else he saw. The longer he looked into those sky blue eyes, the more of the man’s character he could read. This was a man capable of greatness with the heart of a true king, but that was also his weakness. If Lord Odinson had been a tarot card he would have been the Emperor. Upright, he was brave, loyal, and kind, but reversed, he was arrogant, proud, and selfish. This handsome lord was a savage, but not totally beyond redemption. He had allowed himself to become dissolute and spoiled, but at his core, there was good, if he chose to nurture it.

“Choose one more card, my lord,” Loki ordered sweetly. The smirk that curled his lips was wicked. Without looking, he knew which card had been drawn. “The Lovers; partnership, duality, and union. Tread carefully, my lord, you have a great future ahead of you, with the promise of joy, love, and success, but you must be wary. One false step and all will go awry,” he warned solemnly.

Taking up the lord’s right hand, Loki followed the life line he found on his broad, rough palm, and examined it closely. Humming thoughtfully, he noted each line as he appreciated the strength he found there. They were good hands, Loki decided, though he could feel they could be cruel.

Nodding, he said, “A long and powerful lifeline, good. You have danger in your past and in your future and many loves…Though, this one here, promises something special. There is a great love in your future.”

***

It was likely just good showmanship, but her words resonated within him. No wonder she was so sought-after. She almost had him believing in all that nonsense. Her voice was like no other he had ever heard; deep for a woman, but silky and musical. He wanted to scoff at her talk of love, but she foretold it with such calm certainty that he could say nothing. A thrill ran down his spine and he barely repressed the shiver. Thor had no interest in love, he was having far too much fun carousing, but it was a little amusing to be promised some great romance.

While she had been reading his palm, he had been scrutinizing her face. She was beautiful, but not pretty; her features were sharp and elegant like a Grecian sculpture and her skin nearly as white. She had not a very feminine face, in all honesty, her jaw a little too defined and her lips too thin. Despite those flaws, she was lovely. It was a face so elegant and well-formed that it defied gender. Those large, expressive green eyes and the rosy color in her high cheeks and lips spoke of vitality and passion. He had never seen a woman like her.

Her smoke and silk voice was almost hypnotic and he could see why people would flock to her as they did. Though not very feminine in sound or tone, it was not so deep that it could not be a woman’s. The sweet, cultured Parisian accent lent a certain mystique to her words. Her thin, rose colored lips formed each syllable with deliberate grace.

Shaking himself from such thoughts, he said, "You're very entertaining, Madame. That was quite a performance. I'm sure your tricks work well on these impressionable ladies,” he commented dryly, one thick brow arched ironically.

***

Shrugging elegantly, Loki packed away his cards, very aware of the lord’s eyes on him. It was not uncommon for men to look at him with lust and admiration, but there was a heat in Lord Odinson’s gaze that made him feel as if the eyes appraising him belonged to something other than a man. Glancing up from under his dark lashes, Loki caught those piercing blue eyes and could not help thinking of the lion at the Tower zoo. Big and golden, just like this man who smirked at him and chased his figure with his eyes.

“I assure you, my Lord,” Loki purred sweetly. “My gifts are very real. You are not the first to doubt me, nor will you be the last, but I can promise, you will come to believe. This is a new age of science and reason, but the ancients had their wisdom.”

Rising, Loki smoothed down his skirts and moved to stand by Lord Odinson’s knee. For a moment, he scrutinized the man’s handsome, tanned face. Delicately, Loki took his bearded chin between his thumb and forefinger. There was something lingering on him, an ill-wishing of some kind, but it was strange and unfamiliar. Even so, Loki could sense its purpose easily enough. It would grow stronger in the weeks ahead, of that he was sure. Smirking, Loki knew the skeptic would learn the truth and to his cost.

Stepping back, Loki said, “It was a pleasure meeting you, my lord. I am sure our paths will cross again before long.” He gave a little teasing curtesy and sauntered to the door. Pausing at the threshold, one hand resting artfully on the door frame, he called over his shoulder, “Oh, and when that…little problem of yours becomes intolerable, do come see me. I may be able to help.”

With a tinkling laugh, Loki slipped back into the assembly and made his farewells. It was always best to leave before the mystery faded. With a quick promise to come round for tea, Loki left Victoria and called for his carriage. As he was being helped into his coat, Loki caught sight of Lord Odinson over the heads of the crowd and broke into a knowing grin. They would see each other again, of that he was sure.

Though this was a wilder example of the species, Loki knew his prey well. Accustomed to getting whatever they wanted, they were always intrigued by a challenge. Such men were prideful and easily lead, prone to spending lavishly in the pursuit of a difficult woman. Loki had married and been widowed and had no interest in real romance, but flirtation was his favorite game. What was the point of being beautiful and clever if he did nothing with it?

***

"Little problem," he repeated and raised an unbelieving brow.

Thor looked up at the mystic smugly. Being a bit over dramatic, wasn't she? He watched her leave, then followed soon after only to see her being robed and leaving the party. He made brief eye contact with her and gave her a nod. Oh, they would meet again, he was certain of that, though it would not be for any problem.

Intrigued, Thor did what any good hunter would when first considering a new quarry; he learned everything he could about her. From the other young men at the party, he learned that she was a rich widow from Paris who arrived in London like a prima donna two years ago. She had a reputation for consorting with a very bohemian crowd and was even rumored to have spent time in the infamous cabaret, Moulin Rouge, though if it was true, no one knew. What was certain was that she was well acquainted with Oscar Wilde, he of infamous repute, and spent a good deal of her time in the artistic enclave of London, Chelsea. Opinions on the Madame ranged from the very positive to the highly scandalized, but on one thing they all agreed. She was odd, possibly even a touch mad. Far from putting Thor off, the information only fascinated him more.

Though Madame Melusine was a topic of interest, it did not prevent Thor from continuing with his wild and bon vivant lifestyle. After years in Africa, he was eager to sample all the delights the great city of London had to offer. During the day he frequented social clubs, played tennis and polo, patronized the arts, and did everything else a sophisticated lord ought. At night, he caroused with other young men of means, drinking, gambling, feasting, and enjoying the company of loose women. For several weeks after his first meeting with the Madame, Thor lived as a jovial libertine without a care in the world. His wealth and station meant that he was all but beyond reproach as long as he avoided violent crime and the great pox.

Then something strange happened. He was enthusiastically enjoying the company of a pretty ginger courtesan when he found himself unable to find completion. Despite his efforts, he could not finish, though he remained hard long enough to see the girl had no such complaints. That soothed his pride a little and he shrugged it off as a consequence of too much whiskey. Until it happened again. Soon, he could not even rise to the occasion, no matter the inducement. Since his body had first woken, Thor had been potent and virile. This was highly irregular and disturbing, to say the least.

Eventually, he could no longer dismiss it as a side effect of drink or mood. Something the mystic had said began to niggle at his mind. What had she meant by his “little problem?” Thor was an avowed skeptic, but there was something uncanny about the woman, and he began to suspect she had foreseen this happening. Perhaps, he reasoned, she had even been the cause. If she really did have strange powers, there was no telling what she could do. No, he mocked himself; that was absurd. Magic spells were for silly children and bored housewives with too much money. Still, when the problem showed no signs of abating, he could not help wondering about the Madame and her parting words. He meant to ask her, but they did not meet again and he began to despair of ever seeing her again.

Eventually, his situation became such a cause for anxiety that his rational skepticism could no longer outweigh his wild suspicions. Though he had decided to confront the Madame, it was still difficult for him and he bolstered his courage with several drinks before he attempted it. By the time he found her home in Belgravia, he was more than a little drunk and burning with indignation. That trollop had done something to him and then laughed about it! Well, he would stop her laughing soon enough.

Leaning heavily on the fine green door, he slammed his fist on it, causing an awful commotion. The house was dark and it had occurred to him that the lady might be out, but that did not deter him, he would wait. It was late enough in the evening that she would have to return before long. There was no immediate response from within, so he kept knocking, determined to be admitted. Finally, the door swung open and he nearly fell into the foyer before righting himself. At the door was a young woman clutching a robe to her neck and glaring at him in obvious distrust and alarm.

“Sir, it’s the middle of the night, do you need the police,” the maid asked warily.

Unfazed, he demanded, “Does Madame Melusine live here?”

“Yes, but –”

“I must see her right now,” he insisted, cutting her off. “Is she at home?”

Not waiting for a response, he pushed past the woman, who cried, “Sir you need to leave before I summon the police! It’s far too late for the Madame to receive guests and you are in no state to be received!”

He had enough sense not to go barging into the rest of the house, but he looked around frantically, as if he might find the Madame hiding behind the grandfather clock in the front hall. The maid was still trying to see him off, but he ignored her. The foyer tilted before his eyes and Thor could not tell if it was from his distress or the whiskey. His head was reeling but he was certain he had to find the Madame. As though conjured from the night itself, the Madame appeared suddenly at the top of the grand stairs, clad in a black robe, her long, dark hair falling loose past her shoulders. For a heartbeat, he forgot why he had come. She was alluring and otherworldly in the darkness of the hall, like something from a dream. 

Recalling himself sheepishly, he began, “Madame, I apologize for the intrusion, but I must speak with you. Now. It is a matter of some urgency.”

"I'm so sorry Madame, he forced his way in,” the servant explained, brandishing the coat rack, which he assumed she had intended to beat him with.

***

“That is quite alright, Darcy,” Loki assured his harried housekeeper gently. “I employ you to mind the house, not defend it against the Tartars. Go back to bed, I shall be perfectly alright on my own.” When Darcy made to protest, Loki shushed her, “I insist.”

Reluctantly, the young woman returned the coat rack to its proper place and retreated upstairs, leaving her mistress to show their late night guest into the parlor and light the lamps. Without asking, Loki poured the lord a finger of scotch, knowing it was his preferred drink. Odinson had been drinking, Loki could tell, though it was clear he could hold his drink quite well. Very glad he had taken the time to change into the black silk dressing gown from China, Loki lighted gracefully on the divan and looked the flushed and agitated man over critically.

The curse on him ought to have taken effect much sooner and Loki was impressed by the young lord’s vitality. A lesser man would have been rendered limp weeks earlier. Now that it had grown, he could see its purpose more clearly. The ill-wishing was designed to punish a man for falling to his base urges by robbing him of the one and enhancing the others. That might explain his behavior, the cavorting and carousing; dangerous excesses were a hallmark of such curses. It was not a spell to cast lightly and Loki could guess the reasons why Lord Odinson might have been afflicted in such a way. That sort of hex was normally cast by jilted lovers or their angry family members. It was an ill-wishing for those who were angry at faithless lovers. Primly crossing his ankles, his white toes showing under the silk hem, Loki let the man seethe for a moment longer. He would help, but he could still find the situation amusing.

“Well, my lord,” Loki asked politely. “Am I to guess the reason for your unexpected call? At nearly midnight, I should hope it is serious indeed.”

***

Eyeing her darkly, Thor downed his drink, ranting, “What did you do to me? Did you curse me the night you read my cards?”

There was rather a lot of liquor in his blood at this point, and a little voice in his mind wondered if he was not making a fool of himself. He was torn, his rational, sober side telling him that witches were not real, while his irrational, drunk side howled that the seer was to blame. For a moment he glared at her, warring within himself. Figuring it was in for a penny, in for a pound, he stomped over to the sideboard and poured himself another measure of scotch while she continued to regard him with the sort of unreadable intensity he normally associated with cats.

He tossed back the liquor and came to loom over the Madame again, demanding, “Reverse whatever mischief you caused, witch. Now.” When she only blinked at him, her resemblance to a cat truly uncanny, Thor grew angry. “Listen well, Madame,” he growled, leaning over her, breath stinking of alcohol, “just because you are a lonely widow and too strange with all your ghosts and spells to attract male attention doesn’t give you the right to quash – err –” He faltered, a little sheepishly as he searched for a more delicate way of phasing the issue, but he found none. “The amours of others. I have a reputation to maintain and I cannot be found wanting,” Thor snarled, pointing an accusing finger under her haughty nose. “Don’t try to lie, I know you’re involved.”

***

Loki could not help himself, it was the most absurd thing he had ever witnessed, and he laughed in the angry man’s face. Men could be so fragile sometimes and it never ceased to be amusing. Large and furious, Lord Odinson loomed over him and Loki threw his head back and laughed sweetly. He knew he was being threatened, but Lord Odinson was not nearly the most frightening man to ever bully him.

Loki had not survived homelessness and poverty on the streets of Montmartre at the tender age of fifteen to be cowed by an overgrown school boy with a temper and too much whiskey in his blood. Working as a server and stagehand at the Moulin Rouge, Loki had learned to deal with entitled drunks and angry fools. Even if Odinson struck him, Loki was confidant he had taken worse and walked away. The taste of blood was as familiar as cabernet on his tongue. 

“Really, my lord,” he chortled, deftly adjusting the lay of his robe, the tissue-thin silk rustling quietly. “A witch! Oh, that is droll. Why on earth would I care one jot what you do? The efficacy of your manhood is of no consequence to me. You assume I am without suitors, but you could not be more wrong.” Sniggering delicately behind his hand, Loki teased, “You have quite an imagination.”

Snorting like a bull, he snarled, “I have never struck a woman, but you test me beyond endurance, Madame!”

What a pity he was such a fool, Loki lamented. The young lord was extremely handsome, even when his face was red with rage. Those blue eyes burned in a way that made Loki a little weak in the knees. He could imagine being pinned by that gaze under very different, more pleasant, circumstances. As they said, experience could recommend a man, and if the talk was true, he had plenty. There was so much strength coiled in those bulging muscles he looked more like a titan from mythology than a proper British lord. So much power and beauty and all the good sense of a concussed ram; so much for perfection.

At his ease, despite the threat, Loki stretched out on the divan and said, “I have done nothing to you. This – problem – of yours is not of my making. When I read your cards, I saw the first sign of this ill-wishing, nothing more.”

“Who else could it have been?” it was an accusation, not a question.

Bearing his teeth suddenly, Loki cupped the front of the other man’s trousers in one hand and hissed, “You have been sticking your cock where it has no business being and someone has taken issue. Now, if you want my help, I suggest you ask nicely.” He gave a little squeeze for emphasis, his gaze fixed on the lord’s crazed eyes.

***

Though unable to become hard, he could still feel arousal as keenly as ever and when she palmed his member, he bucked his hips forward instinctively. This was no demure gentlewoman! No lady would be so bold! Then again, she was French, and everyone knew French women were all whores, but still. The minx was playing with fire. She had been the only one who knew about his affliction, even before Thor himself, and now she was all but stroking his cock. This was some twisted plot to entrap him; well, he would show her. As soon as she broke her spell, he would have her and she would enjoy every moment. He had never taken a woman by force, but by god, this woman was pushing him.

Snatching her hand away from his groin, he held her wrist firmly and bent her arm over her head, forcing her to lie back on the divan. The Madame did not resist but her eyes became hard and defiant, her pupils dilated in pinpricks the longer Thor pinned her in place. With his other hand, he grabbed a handful of her skirts and began sliding the fabric up to reveal her slim ankles. She gasped and squirmed, but it seemed like only a token protest. If the lady had wanted him to stop, she need only have said so, or given him a swift kick. This was a game, the man pushed and the woman yielded.

Chuckling darkly, he rumbled, “You say I should be nice? Well, that’s up to you. If you undo your curse, little witch, I’ll give you what you want.”

“Every man thinks he knows what women want,” she mocked, her voice husky and dark.

“Madame, you have made your desires perfectly clear.”

As he spoke, he ran his hand slowly up her long leg, marveling inwardly at her perfectly smooth skin. A little cry escaped her lips; she was enjoying it. When the robe and nightdress were pushed up past her knees, he paused to admire the effect of white flesh, on red velvet, and black silk. As he resumed lifting her skirts, she tried to pull her legs together, but he was not put off by her coquettish display. She clawed at the hand that pinned her to the divan, twisting away, but she did not cry out or ask him to stop. She played the game beautifully, arching her back and parting her lips suggestively. Thor swayed, palming the warm flesh of her inner thigh,grinning before moving to cup her sex. 

What greeted him was not what he expected. He had been eager to find wet folds and a welcoming heat, not this. She made a strangled noise as he stared at her in horror. For a moment, he was too stunned and confused to move. They stared at each other, frozen in mutual terror. Then Thor lunged away from the divan and the person on it as if burnt. Wild-eyed, he watched her scramble back, putting the divan between them.

“Witch,” he whispered shakily. “What are you? What did you do to me?”

***

Paler than death, Loki clutched his robe to his chest with a shaking hand and pressed himself against the nearest wall. This man was a savage, a beast, and now he knew his secret. The lord looked at him with such disgust and horror, as if he had found a snake beneath his skirts. It should not have hurt, but the expression of horrified revulsion on Lord Odinson’s face would be carved onto his heart. He had nearly been ravished and the memory of those rough hands lingered like the strands of a nightmare. Shivering, he breathed hard, trying to collect himself.

World collapsing around him, Loki thought furiously of how he might save everything he had worked so hard to build. One word of this and it would spell disaster; his hopes, his freedom, his very life were at stake. The man was staring at him as if he could not quite believe what he had discovered. Perhaps, if Loki was very persuasive, he could convince the brute he had been mistaken or, at the very least, that it was in his best interest to stay quiet. He would have to outperform the best on the London stage.

“What are you talking about,” he demanded of the lord fiercely. “You barge into my home in the middle of the night, ranting like a madman, you dare lay hands on me, and then you presume to demand anything of me? I should call the police and have you arrested!” Blinking back tears of humiliation and fear, he hissed, “Never mind helping you! Get out!”

***

“You should call the police?” Thor repeated in disbelief, his voice rough with shock. "YOU? You should call the police?” he sneered, pointing at the so called lady of the house. “What you are—what you just did,” he said gesturing angrily at the chaise where the seer had tried to seduce him. “It’s not only illegal but... you're … you're an abomination!”

He was sure of what he had felt, but his mind was still trying to deny it. To look at the creature, one would never guess they were anything but a woman. What sort of man paraded around in dresses and flirted with respectable gentlemen? Unable to stand the uncertainty, he rushed the mystic and grabbed the front of their robes. He had only meant to pull the fabric aside, but the little minx fought back and in the struggle, robe and nightgown both were shredded. The cloth was tissue fine and tore easily, revealing, not the flat chest of a man, but a pair of small, round breasts.

Baffled, Thor could only gape at the pretty little tits as they rose and fell with each ragged breath she took. They were pert and pale as cream, topped by tempting, pink rosebuds. It did not seem possible, not when he had felt… Deciding this was some sort of trick, he roughly fondled the left breast, expecting to find a counterfeit. The skin was warm and soft, just as any woman’s breast should be. Under his palm, the small nipple stiffened, proof that it was indeed real.

“I-If you leave now,” she said desperately, in the deep, smoky voice he had found so inviting. “I swear I will never speak of this to anyone. You are not yourself, my lord. Please…”

He faltered. Though he had his faults, Thor had always prided himself on maintaining a chivalrous code of conduct, as his mother would expect. Since returning from Africa, he had been running a bit wild, but this was the first time he stopped to consider his behavior. Dear gods, had he just assaulted a defenseless woman?

The person staring up at him with beseeching eyes and a trembling lip certainly looked like a woman. Delicate, porcelain-skinned, elegant, the seer had every trait Thor would want in a lady, and more besides. It made his gut churn with guilt as he looked at her torn clothes and tear streaked face. Staring at the pale figure in mounting horror, he watched as she shakily tried to cover her small breasts with her hands. 

The room spun as he whirled around, desperate to look anywhere but at her. No, he shook his head, trying to clear away the fog. He knew he was no villain! He knew what he had felt. This person was a fraud, a deviant posing as a lady. Determined to vindicate himself, he spun back around, falling into the Madame, pinning the mystic to the wall with one hand on their throat as he yanked up their skirt with the other. She fought, beating at his hand and thrashing, but he tightened his grip on their neck to still them. Lifting the fabric away, he saw that he had been correct. Between those long legs was a shaft of decent size and shape for a man, though it was oddly hairless. Stranger still, he saw no sack, just the shaft. Something was very wrong with this creature.

Hauling the seer around, he bent her over the arm of the sofa and kicked her legs apart. He was greeted by the sight of a fine, round backside and a little, pink cunny. Again, Thor stopped short, mystified by what he was seeing. None of this made any sense to him. He knew a woman’s parts could be deformed, but he had never heard of one having both cock and quim. Half convinced he was seeing things, he reached out and ran his finger along the slit. The little cry it elicited, along with the warm softness of the folds, told him it was real.

Tossing the witch to the floor, Thor growled, “What are you? You’re some kind of creature, a freak!”

***

"I am as I was born," Loki argued tearfully from the floor. He lifted his chin, glaring at his attacker, though his face remained ashen and his lip quavered. He drew his legs up under him like a coiling snake, and demanded, “Do you think I would choose to be this way? I have suffered for it, I assure you."

Lord Odinson’s hand reared back, preparing to strike. He was a large, powerful man and Loki knew he could not fight him. The man could crush him with his bare hands.

Loki had known for a long time that he would likely die young. A violent end had always seemed likely; the world reviled what it did not understand and sought to destroy it. Even so, he was still frightened. Death was so very permanent and a beating was a slow and painful way to die. No romantic death for him. He had hoped to end his life bravely, but he could not quell the tears streaming down his cheeks. Lying on the floor in the tattered remnants of his favorite nightgown and robe, Loki tried to cover his face and waited for the first blow to fall.

When it did not come, Loki dared a glance at his attacker. The expression in his cold blue eyes was one Loki could not read. His hand was still raised as if to strike him, but he seemed to be reconsidering. He must have been a sight with his disheveled curls, tear bright eyes, bare breasts and torn skirts rucked up to his white thighs. Shivering under that steely glare, Loki covered his exposed chest with his hands and tried to work his skirts back down.

"Please, my lord," Loki said quietly. "I did not place the ill-wish on you, but I can remove it…” 

Closing his eyes, Loki tried to banish the memory of cold, barren rooms that reeked of bleach and piss. He could still feel the leather restraints drawn tight on his wrists and ankles. Nausea bubbled in his belly and for a moment, Loki thought he might be sick. Drawing in a ragged breath, Loki clenched his fists and exhaled slowly, forcing the panic down as he had before.

Lifting his hands in a gesture of prayer, Loki pleaded, “Just, keep my secret. I would do anything to avoid being found out."

***

It was the saddest face Thor had ever seen and he could not bring himself to raise his hand against it. This was not like him; the Madame was a deviant, but she did not deserve the rough treatment he had inflicted. Despite what he had seen, he could not see the mystic as anything but a woman and it went against everything he believed in to hit a woman. Certainly her reactions and mannerisms were feminine and all things considered, she was more woman than man in form. Guilt was already hounding him for what he had done and he knew he could not strike her, especially not when she looked so vulnerable and terrified.

Huffing out an irritable breath, he stumbled back, falling onto the divan. He was still furious at her for her deception and so unsettled by what he had seen. It was perhaps unfair to judge a person for a birth defect, but he could not help being shocked by her body. She was unnatural. There was also the question of the curse; Thor was still not wholly convinced that she had not been its author. Even if she had not been its origin, she had mocked him for it and tried to seduce him, which was reason enough to be angry.

“My lord, please,” she begged piteously, still on her knees. Green eyes filling with tears, she whispered, “You cannot imagine what they will do to me.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Thor retorted wryly, “Oh, I believe I can. They just threw your friend, Oscar Wilde, in prison for this sort of thing.”

The Madame shook her head, explaining, “Years of hard labor would be a kindness. They would cage me, studying my abnormalities, like some exotic creature. It is not prison I fear, my lord, but vivisection.”

Thor had seen some of the specimens the anatomists used, the preserved corpses of the unclaimed poor, and knew she was right. Once convicted of a crime, she would have no rights, her warders could do as they pleased and no one would champion her cause. When she died, no doubt conveniently, they would sell her body to the anatomists, who would use her desiccated body to teach medical students about anomalous biology. A truly ignoble end. No matter how angry he was, Thor could not damn her to such a fate.

Heaving a sigh, he rubbed his beard in agitation. A vein throbbed in his temple as Thor watched the mystic. She was terrified and battered and it was his fault. For a moment, he pictured the Madame pinned to a board like a dead butterfly, her fragile body on display for detached examination.

Taking a deep breath, Thor said, “There’s no need for that, Madame…I will keep your secret, provided you cure my ailment.”

She nodded jerkily and stumbled to her feet, holding the tatters of her robe to her breasts. Not knowing what else to do, Thor remained on the divan and waited. Again, he felt the sting of guilt, but his mind quickly leapt to defend him, arguing that while he had gone a little too far, she had provoked him. Getting comfortable, he watched her, doing his best to seem authoritative and imposing. If she could solve his problem, he would find some way to make amends.

***

Sore and lightheaded, Loki stumbled to his feet and over to the bookshelf on which he kept many of his basic tools. With shaking hands, he collected a stick of incense, some dried sage, a small silver bowl, seven white candles, and a stub of white chalk. Setting his horde on the floor, Loki drew a wide circle in chalk and inscribed the runes for healing and cleansing at the cardinal direction points. Around the circle he arranged the candles at intervals.

Trying to ignore the throbbing in his bruised lip, Loki ordered, “Stand in the circle and don’t move until I say.”

When the lord was in place, he looked around at the ritual preparations and said with no small amount of awe, “So you really are a witch.”

Loki handed him the stick of incense, saying, “That is one word for it, yes. Though all the lore is wrong. Hold that out for me,” he said flatly of the incense.

Leaning forward, Loki cupped the stick like a cigarette and when he drew back, it was lit and a thin trail of smoke flowed between his lips to the smoldering end. Exhaling, the smoke danced over the candles like a rolling fog and each sprung to life as it touched the wicks. Lastly, Loki breathed on the sage which began to smoke in its silver dish. The smell of sandalwood and sage mingled in the air around them like perfume, leaving the room feeling warm and close.

“Breathe deep,” Loki instructed in a very calm, almost hypnotic voice. “Relax and let the smoke move through you…Try to think why someone would want to hex you like this. The best way to break such a spell is to learn the lesson it’s meant to teach…Now breathe out. Feel the ill-wishing leaving you like the air in your lungs...Envision it flowing out of you…”

To the observer, it would appear that they stood on either side of the chalk circle breathing slowly, but Loki knew every touch of the smoke on the lord’s golden skin would feel like a caress. Though he had no desire to give his attacker pleasure, there was no getting around it with this sort of thing. Sexual spells were often like that. The heavy smoke coiled around the man like a cloak. Judging by the flush on his cheeks and the way he shifted on his feet, Loki knew Lord Odinson was feeling the effects.

Wrinkling his nose, Loki watched as a malignant looking haze began to waft out of the man with each exhale. He waited until he saw the last of the hex leave before going to the window to let out the cloying smoke and the ill-wishing with it. The cool air broke the trance and they both sighed. When those blue eyes opened, Loki saw a flash of lust before he regained his senses.

“Well, you are cured,” Loki told him dismissively. Clinging to the tatters of his robe and his dignity, he waved him away. “You can leave now.”

Instead of hurrying away or making threats, Lord Odinson hesitated, seeming to waver. He could not be sure, but Loki thought he saw remorse in his expression. The ill-wishing had been a nasty thing and he had allowed it to grow freely for at least a month, if not longer. Such a curse could cause a man’s baser urges and animal impulses to take control. Freed from its corrupting influence, his behavior might be altered for the better. Though that was wholly dependent on his fundamental character. Call him a cynic, but Loki was not going to hold out hope for the man’s improvement.

After a protracted pause, Lord Odinson said awkwardly, “I…must apologize for…ah…”

A muscle in his jaw twitched and he clenched his teeth. Standing stock still, his fists opened and closed as if he did not know what to do with them. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but instead, he turned on his heel and made to flee the parlor.

Loki glared at that broad back as he tried to escape. Stripped, bruised, frightened, and humiliated, he felt his self-control fraying. This beast had stormed into his home, assaulted and threatened him, and now could not even muster an apology for any of it. Wiping furiously at his flushed and tear-stained face, Loki felt fresh tears welling in his eyes. Good sense would have counseled he stay quiet, but he was overwrought and indignant.

“If this is how you behave, it’s no wonder you were cursed,” he hissed, his whole body trembling with fury. “I would have helped you if you had simply asked! Why,” he demanded, his voice breaking as he gestured at his torn clothes and bruised skin. “A-are you going to tell anyone about me? If you are, I would prefer you kill me now.”

***

With his hand on the front door’s knob, Thor stopped, struck by the anguish in the witch’s voice. He had been the cause, and the more he thought about it, the more he was appalled by his behavior. Cursing himself, he turned to face the sad apparition in the parlor. She made a most convincing specter with her unearthly pale skin and tattered clothes; he could imagine her haunting him, a constant reminder of his sins. Though he badly wished to be gone from the place, he knew he could not leave her like that and maintain any semblance of self-respect. He approached her as he would a fawn, slowly, with his hands at his sides.

He kept a respectful distance and said, “No. No, I will not.” Turning stern, he added, “As long as there are no more supernatural shenanigans.”

“It was not me,” she insisted tiredly. “I had no reason to.”

“That’s as may be, but…” He trailed off, seeing the fear return to her eyes. Overcome with pity and shame he relented, “Alright, I made a mistake. You should sit down, you’re very pale.”

Without waiting for a reply, he gently guided her to an overstuffed armchair and made her sit. She wilted into the cushions, still trying to protect her modesty with the shreds of her robes. What had possessed him to be so violent? Looking down at her trembling before him like the last autumn leaf, he knew he had to say something, though what might salvage this disaster he did not know. Kneeling beside her chair, he struggled to think of anything that might soothe her.

Huffing in frustration, he said, “I was very upset and I acted rashly. You have no idea how distressing that sort of ailment is to a man…or…ah…” She had a shaft, maybe she did understand, Thor did not know, but felt it was a bad subject to broach. “What I mean is, I should not have treated you like that...but you must see that I was very distressed.”

Snorting derisively, she cut her eyes at him and retorted, “Your inability to rise justifies this?” She gestured at the bruises blooming on her skin and the tatters of her night clothes. “I did not hex you,” she insisted vehemently. “There is more than one practitioner of the arts in London and thousands upon thousands in the world! And even if I did, you put your hands on me, tore my clothes off. If I had not been—you would have—you were going to—”

“I have never forced myself on anyone,” Thor told her seriously. “Had you told me to stop, I would have.”

Shuddering, she stood and quickly put distance between them. Shock was setting in now that the immediate peril was over and she looked near ready to faint.

Darting to another chair, she retrieved a shawl and wrapped herself in it. She looked like a caged animal with her wild eyes and hunted expression.

“Go, please, just go…” She whispered, pressing herself back against the wall.

There was nothing to be done for it; he would not make amends that night. Defeated, he escaped the house and surrounding Belgravia as fast as he could. She needed time to calm down and compose herself and he needed time to sober up and consider his options. For a certainty, Thor would see that he made things right, he was just not sure how. It was not going to happen overnight, at any rate. Feeling very unsettled, he went back to White’s for a few drinks to calm his nerves.

After a very steadying glass of brandy, Thor began to wonder if the spell had really worked. After his deplorable behavior, Madame Melusine might have felt she was doing the world a service by insuring his member remained limp permanently. He could hardly blame her after what he had done. Rightfully concerned by that line of thought, Thor wasted no time in finding the nearest willing serving girl. She was a pretty, buxom girl with freckles and a mop of copper hair and she had been quite willing to let him lift her skirts. He was more than a little relieved to find himself responding eagerly to her touch. In the privacy of an upstairs room, Thor tested his stamina and found he was fully restored. Then he tested it again, and then a third time just to be sure. All went as expected and it was a very satisfying end to the evening.

The only trouble was, no matter how he tried to concentrate, his mind kept furnishing him with images of the Madame. Though he knew it was wrong, he could not help thinking of her porcelain perfect skin and long slender legs. He had wanted her, been ready to have her right there in her parlor, and not even the knowledge of what she was could totally erase his desire for her. Even as he plowed into the pretty serving girl, all he could think of was having the Madame beneath him instead. A second and third round proved his manhood was functional, but did nothing to rid him of his sinful thoughts about the strange Frenchwoman.

By dawn, Thor had thoroughly worn himself out and was all too happy to hail a cab and go home. Though Belgravia was not on the way to his home on Saint James’ Street, he still had the cabbie drive past the Madame’s house. All was quiet and still in the first glow of dawn. What he had been expecting, Thor was not certain; maybe a swarm of police and the Madame loudly accusing him for all to hear. That was just his guilty conscious haunting him. The Madame would keep her silence, if only to protect her own secrets. There was little chance he would see any sort of reprisal for his misdeeds, which did not sit well with him.

As soon as he was home, he crawled into bed half-dressed and did not stir until after midday. He would have slept on, but he was expected to attend an assembly that evening, so his valet woke him at half past the hour with tea and newspaper. Loathe as he was to rise, the prospect of food and a bath was inviting and with a little effort on his valet’s part, Thor was chivvied from his bed in due course.

While he ate, Thor perused the paper idly, only half interested in the articles. Then his eye caught on an editorial; it had been written by none other than Madame Loki Melusine du Villeduval. Such an unusual name was not likely to be shared, so the author must be the woman he so recently met. The editorial was entitled A Defense of Mr. Wilde which only strengthened his theory, for it was well known she was a friend of the disgraced playwright.

The Madame did not gentle her words for the readers of the Times. Firstly, she argued that the government had no business dictating what happened between consenting adults in private and pointed out that it was a dangerous precedent. Then she took the government to task for prosecuting men like Wilde while ignoring the rampant problem of child prostitution, arguing that here there was a clear victim in need of protection. “That it is legal for a grown man to purchase a child as young as seven and have carnal knowledge of them in the mistaken belief that a virgin’s touch might cure his pox is abhorrent,” she wrote. Her argument continued, “When such great depravity is taking place all over the city, it seems utterly mad that the government should spend its time prosecuting men who have done no harm.” After that, she very succinctly dismantled the biblical arguments.

It was an eloquent and impassioned piece of rhetoric. Had it been on any other subject, Thor would have expected her to make quite a few converts; however, she was trying to convince people to overlook sodomy. While he, personally, found her arguments compelling, well researched, and was willing to agree with her, few others would. It was admirable that she would stand by her friend after he had been so shamed and he respected it. What a pity she would likely pay dearly for her loyalty.


	2. The Seer (Art)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki Melusine. My art!
> 
> Just so you know, I am available for art and writing commissions! Hit me up if you're interested.


	3. The Wheel of Fortune

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor takes a look at his choices without the haze of the ill-wishing and Loki is contacted by something he hoped was gone for good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to ktspree13 for doing so much to edit this chapter!
> 
> The Wheel of Fortune:
> 
> Upright: change, cycles, inevitable fate, Reversed: no control, clinging to control, bad luck

“You should go to Rome for the season,” Darcy pleaded as she poured him another cup of chamomile tea. “Or maybe Florence, or Madrid, or Malta, anywhere but London. I know you did not want the police called, but he could have killed you, Madam.”

Nodding slowly, Loki sighed, “Ah, Darcy, you are probably right…Valletta is lovely this time of year. Perhaps we should go back to Malta.” Burying his face in his hands, Loki shuddered and breathed out. “Can you write to my solicitor there and see about letting a house? Nothing too grand, but comfortable,” he specified. 

“Right away, Madam, but it’ll take time,” she warmed him. “What will you do until then? He could come back. Should I make some calls, there must be someone we could hire to guard the house in the meantime.” Rubbing at the bridge of his nose, Loki agreed before returning to his cup of tea. “Oh, hell, Madam,” Darcy exclaimed. With an apologetic grimace, she reminded him, “Mrs. Crowley’s party is tonight and you agreed to perform a séance! I’ll send word that you aren’t well.”

“No,” Loki cut her off. “I will not cower in my house because some man was a little too rough with me. Have Ms. Hill fetch my new gown from the shop. There are a hundred parties and salons happening tonight, surely Lord Odinson will be at some other event.”

After seeing the ill-wishing crawling out of the lord’s mouth and nose, Loki realized what he had taken for a minor impotence curse was, in fact, a much more insidious creation. And as he had not known the man before being cursed, there was no way for Loki to know exactly how that terrible ill-wishing had affected Lord Odinson’s behavior. It may have only amplified his already bad habits, but it could have forced his flaws to take control of a once good man. Loki could not be sure, but he had little desire to become better acquainted with the lord. 

Lord Odinson was in attendance, predictably, much to Loki’s dismay. The moment he caught sight of that blond mane above the heads of the milling crowd, Loki had nearly fled, but there was no good reason to excuse himself without drawing attention to himself. He had only just arrived; he could not simply reach the front door and retreat. Bolstering his courage, Loki took a glass of champagne from a passing server and reminded himself that Lord Odinson could not accost him in public without doing more damage to his own image than Loki’s. Comforting himself with the knowledge that there would be no chance for the man to get him alone, Loki did his best to mingle and socialize while avoiding the lord. It had to be done carefully or people would start talking. Of all the parties in London, Lord Odinson had to be at this one, Loki lamented in frustration.

Despite keeping the ballroom between them, he could not hide from the man’s hawk like gaze. The high collar of black lace on his gown hid his bruised shoulders and gloves hid his wrists, but even in the more modest dress, Loki felt naked every time he found those blue eyes on him. Holding back a shudder, Loki tried to ignore him, keeping his eyes averted and his smile polite and easy. He would not let that oversized schoolyard bully run him out of a party he had been invited to first! 

When midnight approached, Loki had the lady of the house call the guests who wished to witness the séance into the parlor and dimmed the lamps. A small table and seven chairs were brought into the room and Loki took his place at the head. Smiling enigmatically around at the finely dressed people hovering in the gloom, he let the silence hang for a few long moments. Building the tension was paramount and Loki was a master. Hands resting on the tabletop, Loki cast his eyes around the room, meeting the gazes of a few of the bolder members of the audience, but carefully avoiding Lord Odinson entirely.

“Who will join me in communing with the spirits,” he asked sweetly.

There was always a second of hesitation. His séances were famously dramatic and, for all their interest in the occult, London’s elite were still a little afraid of the unseen. Shaking his dark curls off his neck, Loki smiled serenely around the room, an open challenge to anyone brave enough to join him.

“I will.” 

Loki did not need otherworldly abilities to know who spoke. 

Turning just enough to see the lord’s broad form, Loki said coolly, “By all means, Lord Odinson, take a seat…”

Sporting a cocky smirk, the Lord Odinson swaggered over to the table and took the seat opposite, his eyes glittering with mirth. To look at him, no one would have guessed what passed between them the night before. He looked perfectly at ease and Loki did his best to reflect that. Though his heart hammered at his ribcage, Loki kept his face calm and unreadable. After a few moments spent holding his dancing blue eyes, Loki turned his gaze to the rest of the audience as if the lord meant nothing to him. A few more people joined them, filling the table. 

Grinning, the lord spoke up, “I am very interested to hear from the netherworld.”

“I welcome skeptics, my lord,” Loki rejoined in his most mystical tone. “Though, I warn you…I have no control over what is said by the spirits.” Holding out his hands, he instructed, “Place your hands, palms down on the table, touching only the tips of your fingers. Until I give the word, do not break the circle.”

Leaning his head back to expose his graceful neck to the sharp gaze of the lord across from him, Loki took a deep breath in and hummed a long, low note. It resonated around the room, making the candles flicker and dim. Around them, the smoke swirled and embraced his slender body. For a long moment, he let the silence hang after the note died away, the room suspended in time.

“I call upon the spirits of those once living to come into this place,” Loki’s voice was low and hypnotic as he spoke. “While our circle holds, you are welcome. Speak through me or make some sound to let us know you are among us…” A knock sounded from above their heads and the dimmed chandelier swung gently. Several people jumped and a lady gasped audibly. Smirking, Loki asked, “If that was a spirit, please give us another sign.” 

Again there came a knock and after that, the séance went on as they normally did. Mostly, Loki used the barest of his gift to perform these little displays. It was easy speaking to the dead; the difficult part was avoiding them. The dead were not quiet for those who could hear them. He spoke to a few departed loved ones and passed on a few messages of love. After fifteen minutes of clairvoyant work, Loki was about to end the séance and move on to some fortunetelling when he was gripped by a sudden clammy, ill feeling, as if fevered. Inhaling sharply, Loki sought out Lord Odinson as if drawn by an invisible hand. Jerked straight back in his chair, his eyes widened. Something was wrong, very wrong. Cold flooded inside him along with a sense of another’s consciousness. 

Meeting coolly amused blue eyes, Loki told him in a waving voice, “The day I read your cards, I said death clings to you…Now I see his hands more clearly.” Arching as if stabbed in the back, Loki moaned, “Ah – ah. He is a young man, tall and blond, though not made as you are…” Without warning, his head dropped to his chest and his whole body shook. When Loki’s eyes opened again, they were blue. “My friend,” Loki said, his voice strangely unctuous and cheerful, his grin lopsided and teasing. “It has been a long time, Thor. Don’t look so glum, I am just fine. Shame about that fight, though.” When Thor paled, Loki laughed, “I don’t blame you, old chap. You might have given me a proper burial though. Bad form, that… Though, I suppose there was a dearth of churches in the jungle.” 

As if shoved in the center of his chest, Loki slammed against the back of his chair, his head rocking back wildly. Limp, he hung in his chair like an abandoned marinate. Chest rising and falling rapidly, Loki slowly sat upright again. Pale and ashen, he met the young lord’s astonished eyes.

“I did warn you.”

***

It had been quite the show, the Madame was truly an impressive actress, and Thor had to give her that. Even after seeing her work some spell, he could not believe the mystic was actually speaking with ghosts. What was dead was dead; if the departed could return from beyond, then why had he never received a message from his mother and father? That sort of thing should happen all the time if the Madame was to be believed, and yet, he was not receiving messages from dead loved ones like he received invites for tea.

The sudden change in the Madame’s demeanor had brought him up short, but he remained aloof until she began speaking in a tone that sent chills down his spine. Fighting the urge to shudder, he tried to explain away the situation. Everyone knew he had been in Africa and on safari with other young men of his rank, he rationalized. It could have been a guess, though how the mystic would know what Fandral had looked like, Thor could not know. Chillingly, the mannerisms and tone she used were exactly those of his dead friend. 

Ice filled his belly when the so-called spirit spoke to him, mentioning the manner of his dear friend’s death. No one but Thor and a few locals knew how Fandral died. Not even the young man’s family knew he had been stabbed during a card game in a seedy hunting camp in the jungle of the Congo. It was all but impossible that the seer could know that information. Most unsettling was the shocking blue color of the mystic’s normally green eyes. For a long moment, the room remained silent after her warning.

“Warn me,” Thor scoffed, his hackles rising. Frowning darkly, he growled, “Warned me of what? This is just nonsense!”

Thor woke that morning to look back on his past action with mounting horror and shock. While he had always been a bit wild, he had never behaved like a libertine possessed by a spirit of excess and selfishness. Since returning to London, Thor realized he had been running mad, drinking, whoring, and fighting. Yes, he had always enjoyed his wine and pleasurable company, but not like this. He had been dismissive and discourteous to everyone, particularly women which was not like him at all. The whole day he had been searching for a way to redeem himself and had meant to throw himself on the Madame’s mercy, but then she had chosen to punish him in the cruelest of ways. If she wished to torment him, that was fine, but involving Fandral he could not abide. His friend’s memory would not be disrespected for cheap entertainment!

Fleeing the awkward situation, the other people at the table quickly moved away and the guests quickly removed themselves to the adjacent room for more food and drink. Thor remained seated, his glare pinning the seer to her seat. He would have words with the Madame and a damned explanation from her. She sat stock still, her catlike gaze meeting his unblinkingly. It would be unseemly for a man and woman to be alone together, even so close to a large party, but he did not care. 

When the last person had crossed back into the well lit room adjoining the parlor, Thor stood and said quietly, “I would speak with you in private, Madame.” 

Without waiting for her response, he crossed to the doorway and closed the doors in the faces of the curious onlookers. Speculation exploded on the other side of the doors, no doubt they were already cooking up scandal, but Thor did not care. He was still half convinced the seer had cursed him and now she was toying with him again. Fury simmering under his skin, Thor stalked back to the mystic and stood to block her from leaving the table. 

“I have no time for your tricks,” he hissed, his face turning crimson with his barely suppressed wrath. “How you came by that information, I don’t know, but you will tell me at once,” he ordered.

“You of all people should know my gifts are genuine,” the mystic retorted tartly, her fine eyes flashing with repressed anger. 

Thor snorted, “Your gifts! You mean your witchcraft...for that's what it is. Anyone that has been afflicted as you have...is most certainly a witch.”

Bristling, despite her apparent fear, she snapped, “I could point out that I had no way of knowing you would be here tonight, or that I had only a few hours to procure this information, or that I have spent all day trying to find ways to avoid you, but I will simply ask you this. Why, in the name of all the gods, would I do anything to anger you after your display of temper last night?”

“My temper,” he scoffed, waving his hand in a wide, irritated arc. “After that stunt, you have earned my temper, Madame. Why do you insist on antagonizing me?” 

Her eyes darted between him and the door he blocked and her cool demeanor crumbled, revealing panic. In her face, he could see the fear of a cornered animal. He could almost see the memories of his rough treatment playing in her mind and guilt twisted in his gut. She feared him, Thor realized with a jolt of nausea. Shuddering, she regarded him apprehensively, her hand on her chest as if clutching a crucifix. 

“I have no reason or desire to antagonize you, my lord,” she told him cautiously. “You hold my life in your hands. Had I known you would be here tonight, I would not have come. I want nothing to do with you and will be very glad to quit London before the season is over,” the seer swore tremulously. Standing, she implored, “Now, please, let me pass.” 

Still looming over her, Thor did take a step back, asking, “You are leaving London? Are you afraid I will give away your...little secret?” he demanded in an undertone, glancing at the door.

***

“Yes, of course I am,” Loki snarled, acutely aware of the gossips on the other side of the door. “I also fear you will come to my home and assault me every time anything remotely inexplicable befalls you. I would prefer not to be brutalized and stripped whenever the mood strikes you. Not to mention, had you behaved like a gentleman, it would still be my secret to keep!” Even in yards of satin and lace, Loki felt naked under that burning blue glare. Instinctively, he covered his chest and hunched in his shoulders as if he were as bare to his gaze as he had been last night. Shivering, he pushed himself out of his seat and tried to get past the lord who still blocked his only means of escape. Breathing hard, Loki pressed a hand to his side as a stitch formed under his suddenly too tight corset. With little sleep and far too much stress, Loki was already feeling a little off and after the spirit hijacked his body he was feeling lightheaded and shaky.

Drawing in a deep, calming breath, Loki said, “Please, the longer you keep me here, the more they will talk. Channeling a spirit takes a great deal of energy and I would like to go home, so step aside and let me pass.” The young lord made no effort to move and Loki began to feel a little hysterical. 

_He calls you an abomination, a witch, but given the chance, he would take his pleasure of you just like the so called doctors in the asylum._

The voice was deep and rough, echoing up from the darkest corners of Loki’s mind. The words slunk against the inside of his skull like a cat. Suddenly he could catch a hint of fire and sulfur in the air. The pop and crackle of a burning building groaned in his ears. It was a voice he had hoped he would never hear again. Icy claws raked down Loki’s soul and ripped a small sob from him. 

Already wound tight enough to snap, Loki panicked and threw himself at the door, trying to knock Lord Odinson out of the way. He was in danger.. He had to flee, and he would crawl over that mountain of a man if he had to. Fighting back tears, Loki clawed at the huge man who blocked him as effectively as a stone wall. “Why are you so set on tormenting me,” Loki whimpered in terror, his eyes wide and bright with unshed tears. “Please, just let me go. I-I feel faint, please, my lord.” 

_Burn him. _

_Burn them all. Kill him and be done with it. What is one more sin to a damned soul?_

“You’re clearly upset,” the lord said reasonably. “I cannot allow you to leave in such a state, Madame. You look ready to faint. What would people think?”

They would think Lord Odinson had harmed a young widow. The man was not going to allow that sort of gossip. Loki knew that, even in his state of panic, so he did not resist when the other man gently, but firmly escorted him to a chair. Shaking and half-crazed, Loki searched the room for the first sign of a dark figure. Were the candle flames dancing in a draft or were they moving on their own?

Daring to touch his bare shoulder, the lord said, “You’re pale. Let me fetch you something to drink. You will feel stronger for it.”

Loki only nodded, his eyes still darting from shadow to shadow anxiously. Holding himself tightly, he watched as the large man strode to the door and requested a glass of wine or brandy for the Madame. Around his broad form, people peered at Loki who did indeed look ill. Lady Dorset squawked like an upset hen and loudly called for a drink, her strident tone making Loki flinch. The small crowd muttered to each other and politely tried to talk their way past Lord Odinson; he was not having it. 

“There, Anderson,” Lady Dorset shrilled, pointing a servant to the parlor. “Have the Madame sip this wine. It’s very restorative.”

With his back to him, Loki could not see the lord’s face, but he could hear the irony in his voice when he drawled, “I shall, thank you, my lady. It seems the Madame has overtaxed herself with this difficult séance.” He took the glass and politely shut the door in Lady Dorset’s face. Returning to his side, Lord Odinson offered Loki the drink and told him, “I am skeptical of all this…but I have seen shamen in Africa bring forth spirits from smoke and flame and they were always ill and exhausted after.”

Sipping the wine, a very dry red, Loki spoke quietly, “Yes, the spirits feed on the energy of the living as fire feeds on wood.” He finished the wine swiftly and leaned back in his chair.

“Madame,” the young lord began awkwardly. “I… I must apologize for my behavior last night. I was unusually cruel and aggressive with you, not at all how I was raised to treat a lady,” he admitted awkwardly. 

_He lies to save his own skin._

_Burn him._

Loki sobbed and covered his ears, but he could still hear the lord say, “You still seem unsteady. I will see you back to your home since you came unaccompanied.” 

“N-no, I can make my own way home,” Loki insisted, but when he tried to stand his knees buckled and Lord Odinson had to catch him and deposit him back in his chair. “I must go home… My defenses are weakened more than I thought.” Slumping back in his seat, Loki closed his eyes, murmuring, “I am in more danger than you know, my lord.”

“In danger?” Odinson echoed skeptically. “In danger of what, Madame?”

“The supernatural, my lord,” Loki told him, though he had no hope the man might believe him.

Letting out a frustrated huff, Odinson set his jaw, determined, “Then I am taking you home. I will not leave you to fend for yourself, not in this state.”

That was not a prospect Loki relished, but he was not sure he had the strength to make it home by himself. The voice had not troubled him since the death of his husband and even then, he ran from it. In the darkness of the asylum, the voice had told him how to survive. The stress of being found out and threatened had left Loki vulnerable. In his defenselessness, the voice returned, as it always did. When he was young and alone, he had trusted the voice and it had led him astray. Again, Loki tried to stand but swayed and Odinson once again forced him into his seat.

“Take me home, please,” Loki begged, his resolve crumbling. “I need to protect myself.” 

Nodding briskly, the lord agreed. “Very well.” He offered Loki his arm and supported his weight by looping a strong arm around Loki’s willowy waist. Pushing the doors open with his free hand, Odinson announced, “Madame Melusine is unwell and I shall be escorting her home. No need to worry, I’m sure a little rest will see her quite recovered.” 

It was more than a little scandalous for an unmarried man to escort a lady home alone, but his position, size, and wealth seemed to be enough to keep everyone quiet. Loki was dimly surprised to see that no one dared speak up though they were clearly aware that this was highly improper. He was too exhausted and dizzy to say anything himself or to ask anyone else for help. Whispers followed them out onto the stoop. 

Leaning heavily into the lord’s side, Loki sighed and blinked slowly into the night as he called for a carriage. Judging by the size and opulence, it was Odinson’s personal coach, which would have been impressive, if Loki was not so dazed and sick. There was even more strength in those big hands than he would have guessed when the lord easily lifted Loki into the carriage as if he was only a child. Even with a corset, Loki drooped against the backrest.

“Is your head hurting you?” Odinson asked with honest concern. The lord gave the coachman the address then rapped sharply on the roof to give the order to drive on. “Is it often like that?”

Turning his glazed eyes to regard Odinson owlishly, Loki mumbled, “This was more difficult than most and I was not at my strongest.”

They rode in silence for a time, the carriage rumbling alone towards the Belgravia residence Loki let for the season. He was so exhausted that if it were not for the dark whispers and the crackling of flames in his mind, Loki would have been tempted to curl up on the seat and go to sleep. As it was, he could only clutch at his head and try to ignore the hiss of ‘burn them all.’ There was a red hot poker jammed behind his left eye which was causing the bile to rise dangerously in his throat. By the time the carriage came to a halt at Loki’s home, he was close to fainting. Glassy-eyed and white-faced, Loki had to be helped from the coach.

When Loki lost his footing and toppled forward, Odinson caught him, saying, “I’ll just escort you to your door, Madame.”

“You are not as charming as you think,” Loki mumbled irritably. 

“Is there someone to look after you?”

“My housekeeper, Darcy, will be at home,” Loki told him weakly. His whole head throbbed as the voice continued to whisper poison in his ear. 

_Burn them all. Dance in the wreckage and paint your face with their ashes._

With Odinson’s arms full, Loki clumsily handled the door knocker, the brass banging echoed deep into the house. In only a few minutes, the door was flung open. Darcy gasped and glared at the lord who held her Madame. Small and pretty, Darcy could hardly be called imposing, but she did have a look of danger in her eyes that was serious enough to make the big man pause. She had been perfectly willing to crack his skull with the coat rack, after all. 

Before she could call for the police, Loki said, “It’s alright, Darcy, let us in. The séance was more taxing than I planned. Please, put the kettle on and fetch me something to eat.” Still regarding Odinson with a dark look, Darcy stepped aside and shut the door behind them. “I need the tools in my study,” he told the lord as he pointed to a door down the hall.

Kneeling in the middle of the floor in his study, Loki directed Odinson to all the things he would need. Six candles, three white and three black, white chalk, a chunk of black tourmaline, a bowl of salt, sage, and a vial of sea water. With unsteady hands, Loki drew a circle of protection and marked it with the symbols for banishment and protection, then followed the chalk with a line of salt. Placing the candles around the white circle, Loki set the tourmaline in the center. Summoning his inner fire, Loki bent forward and blew lightly on the sage, which caught fire and began the smoke. A second breath lit the candles. In the center of the circle, Loki anointed himself with seawater and quietly chanted a spell for banishment. 

His gift came from the sea, his grandmother had taught him that when he was only a child, and he often used seawater in his rituals. He always preferred to live in cities near water and was strongest when near the ocean. Grandmother had told him that their family was descended from a sea spirit, a siren or mermaid, and it was this other blood that gave them their magic. It was the reason he had chosen Melusine as his surname when he reinvented himself. 

Embraced by the smoke and salt, Loki felt the grip of the dark voice loosen on him. Breathing in deep of the sage and sea, Loki’s back arched until he was nearly bent double, his hair pooling on the floor around his feet, his hips in the air. For a moment, he felt burning claws tearing at his insides before it vanished and he was again free. Slumping back, boneless, Loki lay there on the floor and tried to catch his breath. 

“Are you well, Madame?” the lord asked.

When he pushed himself again into a sitting position, Loki looked to the lord, saying, “Thank you… I overtaxed myself and it left me vulnerable. There are dangers in being even a practitioner of white magic. There are things that live in the dark.”

Just then Darcy entered the room bearing a tray with tea, a sandwich, and a curt, “M’lord… Can I fetch you anything else, Madame?” 

“No, thank you, Darcy.” 

Awkwardly, the young lord stood and straightened his coat, saying, “I shall take my leave, then. I trust you are in capable hands,” he added with a swift nod. For a moment, he paused, then he knelt by Loki, saying, “I must apologize for my actions last night. I have never in my life behaved in such a despicable manner and I cannot account for it,” Odinson told him.

The young man’s face was a mask of guilt and shame and Loki could hear the disgust in his voice. Loki stared deep into his beseeching eyes and saw a very different person looking back at him. The shame and self-loathing he presented was real; Loki could almost taste it in the air. Looking closer still, Loki detected something else lurking behind Odinson’s blue eyes. Fear; the lord was afraid of the things he had done. 

“That ill-wishing was more insidious than I realized when we met,” Loki said very cautiously, his face wary. “It did far more than just cause impotence; it encouraged your worst traits. Wrath, lust, gluttony, pride,” he explained, ticking them off on his long fingers. “All the seven deadly sins, I suppose. It would affect you, though how much, I don’t know.”

At Loki’s words, Odinson seemed to sag, as if the weight of his guilt had lifted from his shoulders. Loki was not going to lie, but he was also not ready to fully absolve him yet. A flare of annoyance burned in Loki’s heart, but he ignored it, telling himself that it was a good sign that the lord was upset about what he had done. Odinson ran his hands over his face as if trying to wipe away the mix of emotions so clearly displayed there. A shaky gust of air escaped his lungs and he bowed his head under Loki’s direct gaze.

Thickly, he asked, “So, how much of what I did was because of the curse?”

“I cannot say for certain,” Loki told him honestly. He hesitated before adding, “Though you are still a spoiled, arrogant, selfish popinjay,” he said frankly, unfazed by the lord’s wince. “However, you are not a villain or the monster I feared you to be,” Loki allowed.

Once again meeting Loki’s eyes, Odinson said wryly, “You have the right to call me whatever you wish. I deserve it. Though, I hope to prove myself worthy of your forgiveness.”

Loki relaxed and even dared to squeeze the lord’s forearm comfortingly as he said, “I believe you will. I was right when I read your cards; you have it in you to be more than you are. You have a good heart, my lord, strive to follow it,” Loki advised solemnly.

“Wise council, Madame,” Odinson said with a flash of a true smile. “I am sorry you took ill, but I am very glad I went to that séance. I attended only in hopes of pleading for your forgiveness. Your face has haunted me since I woke this morning.”

Taking a long breath, Loki considered his next move. What Odinson had done to him, stripping him like that, was terrible. His cruel words had hurt far worse than the cut in his lip. Odinson had called him a freak and an abomination. Yes, the ill-wishing would have affected his behavior, but Loki did not know how much. Perhaps Lord Odinson would not have assaulted him without the influence of magic, but that did not mean the man would have thought any differently about Loki’s body. Was the man under the curse worth trusting? Exhaling slowly, Loki held his gaze and made up his mind. 

“I can see you are sincere, my lord,” Loki said tiredly. He was very serious as he asked, “Will you keep my secret?”

Without hesitating, Odinson pledged, “I will take it to my grave. You have my word on my mother’s soul.” 

Sighing in relief, Loki smiled, “Thank you, my lord.” 

“You need rest,” Odinson said, standing again. “I shall leave you to recover,” he said with a formal bow. He seemed to flee, but stopped at the door to the study. Turning back, Odinson said, “I am sorry to hear you mean to quit London, Madame. It will be less… colorful without you. Good evening and swift recovery.” 

With another curt nod, he strode from the room. 

After some restorative tea and a ham sandwich, Darcy helped Loki upstairs and into bed. At his direction, his housekeeper drew a salt circle around his bed and left him to rest. She promised to let him sleep late and went to clear up his casting circle. As ever, Darcy was on top of things in her own way and loyal to a fault. 

Part of the reason Loki employed Darcy Lewis, erstwhile American suffragette, was because she was as unshakable as the Alps. While she had no real magic of her own, she had grown up with an Irish grandmother who had the gift and after fleeing New York ahead of a murder charge, Loki had taken her in when they met in Nice. She had only stabbed a lout who tried to force himself on her; hardly a crime in Loki’s book and Darcy was an excellent housekeeper. Considering the shortcomings of some of the other applicants, manslaughter was nothing. And he liked Darcy, she was bright and funny and the nearest thing he had to a friend.

Within minutes of collapsing into bed, Loki was asleep, but it was fitful and troubled by the reek of smoke and brimstone. When he did wake, the sun was high and his head no longer throbbed, but he was still a little weak. Getting to his feet, Loki wandered about his room, coming to stand before the long mirror in the corner. Naked, he regarded himself in the glass critically. He was objectively beautiful, all slender lines and silky white skin. His face could have been sculpted by one of the Greats. With eyes as green as summer and glossy black curls like midnight, he was lovely. Yes, his body was strange in its form, but he could give no end of pleasure to any partner, man or woman. Surely beauty and the giving of pleasure counted for more than conforming to one mold or another. 

“No mortal can appreciate what you are, my sweet.”

Loki startled at the voice and the hands on his hips, though only for a moment. He had not heard Thor enter, but he relaxed into his hold soon enough. It was good to be held and he smiled back at his lover in the mirror. When Thor’s arms encircled his waist, Loki melted.

“You should be cherished, your powers respected and feared. No one as special as you should be forced to hide and live in shame,” Thor rumbled against Loki’s neck, a hand trailing up that pale stomach. 

Rough fingers circled around Loki’s small breast, causing his nipple to harden without being touched. Letting his eyes fall closed, Loki gasped and arched into the strong hands. Thor moved to cup both breasts, playfully running his thumbs over the pebbled flesh that begged for his attention. 

“Give me what I want and you will never again feel shame or fear,” the lord swore his vow hot against Loki’s ear.

Looking over his shoulder, Loki met those blue eyes and murmured, “What do you ask of me?”

“I want you, Loki,” Thor told him fiercely, his hands tightening a little on his small breasts. “I want your heart, your mind, your body, your very soul. Together we could make magnificent children…children who could chase down the sun and swallow the moon. Submit to me and I will love you for all that you are. Your honey and your venom. Only agree to be mine and I will give you everything you have ever desired.”

“My soul?”

“Oh yes, your soul, my little viper. Give me your soul, and the rest of you, and you will be loved and treasured always. I would let you bear your fangs, flash your scales, twist your coils around my neck. You would be free.”

It would be so easy to tilt his head up and accept the kiss hanging on Thor’s lips and all the promises with them. What was his soul anyway? He was already damned. His submission would mean love and safety. Thor was strong and powerful; a stone wall behind which Loki could live in comfort. It would be so good to be loved for all he was. No more hiding, no more lying. His lips were parted, ready to accept, when a thought wriggled its way into his mind and he pulled up short.

Full lips only a hair’s breadth from Loki’s, Thor breathed, “Accept my love, Loki. I have loved you from the moment I saw you.” 

That did not seem right, but Loki could not quite understand why. Thor’s embrace was warm and safe, his touch gentle, and yet, something in the deep recesses of Loki’s brain was screaming that he was in danger. Why? The edges of his vision became blurry as he shook his head. 

“No...no! You called me a witch, an abomination,” Loki recalled, his mind’s eye suddenly full of the look of horrified disgust on that handsome face. This man had thrown him to the ground and threatened to beat him. The world tilted dangerously before his eyes as he said, slowly, “…You do not love me. You nearly forced yourself on me. Why do you want my soul?” 

“That was the ill-wishing, not me. You said so yourself. I want all of you,” Thor answered smoothly as his fingers moved to lightly twist Loki’s nipples, making him squirm with pleasure. “All of you, Loki.”

“No, you said my soul,” Loki argued, his mind working uncommonly slow. 

Something was wrong, very wrong. When Loki tried to pull away, Thor’s hold on him tightened until it was painful. He whined in pain as his nipples were twisted hard. Struggling, he beat his fists against the man holding him and thrashed to no avail. The reflection in the mirror was no longer Thor, but something else, dark and twisted, wearing his face like a mask. Loki screamed and the thing pressed him against the cold glass of the mirror.

“No! No, you cannot have me,” Loki sobbed frantically. “Leave me be, demon! I am not yours!”A rough hand slid between his flesh and the glass and forced its way between his thighs and sharp teeth pressed into his neck. Though he fought, he could not stop the now clawed hand from finding his most private place as he shrieked, “No! I am not yours!”

“You will be mine, little viper,” the thing promised, its breath burning the nape of his neck. “One day you will find yourself alone and lost. On that day, I will be waiting for you. It is _fate_. Our fate. Run if you want, hide, I will always find you.”

“No,” Loki cried, throwing himself out of bed. Swaying, he looked around wildly, confused to find himself alone in his room. It was early morning, the light coming in through the window still grey. “A-a dream,” he realized dazedly. 

Relieved, Loki collapsed back on his bed and plucked at the nightgown that sweat had pasted to his skin. The fabric pulled on his hips and it stung. Confused, Loki carefully pulled the nightdress up over his legs. On his hips, just where the meat of his thighs joined, were three long scratches that had not been there when he went to bed.

_I will always find you, little viper. Your little salt circle cannot keep you from me _

When Darcy came to check on him later, he was still in his nightgown, surrounded by his tarot cards, books on dream divination, rune stones, and star charts. He had consulted each and received the same answer. He could not leave London and he could not hide from the dark thing that had marked him. Holding up the Lovers card, Loki felt a pit open in his stomach. The portents had all been clear about one other thing; he needed Lord Odinson.

***

Thor slept poorly that night, his dreams haunted by his friend. The night was sweltering, the air so thick it was like breathing underwater, their shirts painted to their backs with sweat. A camp of Belgian soldiers ready to drink and talk and gamble had seemed like fine company after their own small party had been alone in the jungle for days. It had all been good fun, until Fandral, drunk and overconfident, had accused a man of cheating at cards. One moment, Thor was trying to defuse the situation and the next, his best friend was choking on blood. Fandral died in his arms, a knife in his back.

He woke in a cold sweat and poured himself a whiskey. After a drink and a splash of cold water on his flushed face, Thor returned to bed and went back to sleep. At first, he drifted in half formed dreams until a figure in black ghosted towards him through the mists of unfinished dreams. Loki, she glowed like the moon, her eyes bright, and lips turned up in a wicked smile that made his heart leap. Suddenly, she was beneath him on the divan as she had been the other night, but she was eager and welcoming. Her breasts were bare, he long legs wrapped around his hips. He wanted her, even knowing what she was. Just as he was about to lift her skirt, she began to laugh and shoved him away. Though not as disturbing as the first dream, it still robbed him of his rest and left him staring at the ceiling as he lay in bed.

When he did wake, Thor was irritable and short with everyone but his staff. Mood seriously dampened, he spent the morning hunting grouse with his friends and riding through the countryside. Even after excreting himself and socializing, Thor was still not feeling himself. The moment his mind was not fully engaged, it returned to the dreams that had haunted him that night. His rough treatment of the Madame still made his skin crawl. Though Fandral’s death did hound him, it was Loki who truly preoccupied him. He could almost smell her perfume, even while standing in a field amid horses and hounds. 

Once she was in his mind, he could not banish her and soon Thor found he had so many questions. The Madame was some kind of witch and she had magic, but how? Of course he was skeptical still, he was a logical man and he knew magic and witches were not real. But then, he had witnessed Loki work magic, hadn’t he? Then there was the entire city of questions he had regarding her life. Her body was unlike anything he had known was possible. Could she truly have had a husband? He knew he was not at all in a position to ask such questions, but he still burned to know the answers. 

“Honestly, Thor,” his friend, Volstagg complained. “Where is your head? You missed that grouse completely!”

Rolling her eyes, Lady Sif shouldered her riffle and said, “He is still thinking about his encounter with the Madame.”

Sif was one of the most impressive shots Thor had ever met and despite the mixed feelings about women joining the hunt, no one who had seen her shoot ever complained about her presence there. Of course, Sif would not have paid them any mind if they had. She walked through life with her head held high and stride even. Now that he was looking at her, Thor realized there was some similarity between his friend and Madame Melusine. They were both ladies who refused to bow to social norms. It was part of what drew him to Sif, and the Madame, he supposed.

Thor harrumphed as his friends laughed, “I did not sleep well last night. It has nothing to do with her or any woman.”

“Are you feeling well,” Hogun asked, his dark eyes penetrating, reminding Thor of a crow. He cocked his head to the side and commented, “You have been acting strangely in the last few days.” 

“Perhaps you have worn yourself out,” Volstagg suggested thoughtfully. Stroking his beard in his pensive tick, the big man commented carefully, “Well, you have been…sewing your wild oats since you came back to England.”

The others made noises of assent, but said nothing more. Thor looked closely at his friends, the people he had known his whole life, and realized they were all acting as if they expected him to fly off into a fit of temper. Gods, only a few days ago, he probably would have. His temper had always been a bit short, but since leaving Africa, he had been increasingly erratic and prone to rages. Now that he was really looking back on his conduct, he realized they had every reason to be wary of him. He had been a wild thing, careening from lust to greed to fury without warning.

Again beset by shame, Thor told them, “I think I have done just that. No more carousing for me, I’ve worn myself out,” he decided. 

“What will you do with all your free time,” Sif joked sardonically. “Come now, are we hunting or having a tea party? There’s game afoot.”

Thor grumbled and lifted his gun, but even after being coaxed into focusing, he was still not on form and the hunt went poorly. His friends teased him, clearly trying to lighten his mood, but it did not help. In his mind, a list of sins and crimes was growing by the minute and even the Madame’s words did not ease his guilt. He cut the hunting trip short and returned home where he was at least be free to brood in peace. A few hours cloistered in his study did little to lighten his heart, though, and his mind remained on the mystic with the feline smile. Was she well after her ordeal? He found he needed to know. 

As he was sitting down to tea, he called his most trusted servant, Jenkins, and said, “I would like you to take a tin of the lavender tea around to this address.” He handed Jenkins a slip of paper with an address and added, “Do not tell whoever receives you who sent it, but enquire after the lady’s health.”

“Very good, sir,” Jenkins responded with only the slightest twitch of an eyebrow to note that he knew who lived at that address. 

Drumming his fingers on the table, Thor had an idea, “Oh, and bring some of the pears that came from Italy today.”

He waited impatiently for Jenkins to return and paced a rut in the polished parquet floor of his study. With every tick of the grandfather clock, his unease grew. Surely Jenkins should have returned by now, unless the Madame was terribly ill. She had spoken of something dark hunting her and she had seemed almost crazed. What if she was suffering some sort of mental break after what he had done to her? He had heard of women going mad after being assaulted and, if he was frank, she might have been a little mad before they met. 

The longer he thought on it, the more likely it seemed that Thor was the cause of the Madame’s distress and possible illness. As if he had not trespassed against her and basic decency enough, he might have driven a woman of delicate mind raving mad. If that were the case, Thor despaired of ever redeeming himself. Sick to his stomach at the very idea, he was in a state of barely contained hysteria when he heard a clatter in the yard that warned of a visitor.

Not five heartbeats later, his Butler, Mr. York, entered wearing a harried expression and accounted, “Lady Gertrude Aslög, to see you, sir.”

Groaning, Thor waved to signal that York could show his great aunt in, not that he could have turned her away. The woman was a Viking in taffeta and not one to be gainsaid. Sensing an impending rebuke, Thor crossed to the sideboard and poured himself a brandy. He heard her before he saw her, the irritable click of his aunt’s cane coming before the woman herself. She was tall and handsome, a beauty in her day, with grey hair and the sharp eyes of a hawk.

“Aunt Gertrude,” he welcomed her with a forced smile. “I did not expect to see you today. To what do I owe this surprise visit?”

Instead of answering him, Gertrude gave him a haughty sniff and perched on one of the armchairs by the fire. She looked him up and down critically, her blue eyes catching on the drink in his hand as her mouth turned to a thin, severe line. Thumping her cane on the Oriental rug in irritation, she glared at him as she had when he was a boy, waiting for him to confess his crimes to her and accept the punishment.

“As though you cannot guess,” She harrumphed, fixing him with the sort of disapproving glare only old ladies are capable of. “Your conduct these last weeks has been shameful, to say the least, but now you have gone too far, Thor.”

Genuinely bemused, Thor asked, “To what are you referring?”

She scoffed and bobbed her head like a chicken as she snapped, “Where do I begin? From the moment you staggered off the boat from Africa you have been living like a libertine! Carousing with loose women, drinking, gambling! To see you carrying on, one would assume you were a sailor on shore leave and not an earl!”

“Aunt Gerddy, I’m hardly the only young man who—”

“You are the only young man who I care about,” she shot back, cutting of his half hearted platitude. “Don’t think I did not hear about your shocking behavior at Lady Dorset’s party and that is not the worst of it.”

Thor was honestly confused now. All the accusation she had leveled against him were just, but he could not think what more there was. His dealings with the Madame were a secret and Gertrude had listed his other sins. What other grave sins had he committed? 

“Do you deny it,” she demanded. 

With a heavy sigh, Thor confessed, “I have been drinking more than I ought and perhaps keeping company with less than reputable women, yes.”

“And that French trollop, what have you to say of her? That Melansene woman or whatever her name is.”

His mouth hung open for a moment before he could find his voice and he said, “The Madame is hardly an acquaintance, I don’t know what you are implying, aunty, really.”

“Oh don’t you,” she shrilled, narrowing her eyes over her spectacles. “Did you no go with her to her home, unaccompanied, last night? It’s the talk of London,” she clucked and punctuated her accusation with another thump of her cane.

Damn the woman was like a gossip magpie.

“She fainted and I escorted her home,” Thor told her in his most reasonable tone. “That is all, Aunt Gerddy, I swear. The gossip mongers will turn anything into a scandal, you know that. I admit that I have behaved poorly since my return, but you have my word that I mean to change my ways from here on out.”

Sneering down her aristocratic nose, Gertrude sniped, “And to what can we attribute this sudden change of heart? Henry V you are not. Before you left for Africa, I would never have believed this of you, but since you came home, I hardly recognize you.”

“It was actually Madame Melusine,” he admitted. Choosing a delicate path between truth and fiction, Thor went on, “I was rude to her at Lady Dorset’s party and she very articulately told me exactly what she thought about that. The words spoiled, arrogant, and reckless were used,” he recalled when a grimace. “We next met at the assembly last night. I was still smarting from her dressing down and offered to escort her home when she took ill as a means of making amends for my past behavior.”

After what felt like an age, Gertrude asked, “And you swear that was all? You haven’t been dallying with that French charlatan? Do you know what they say about her?”

“No, aunty,” Thor moaned as he dropped into the opposite chair. “No, there was no dallying of any kind. She was in no state for anything like that, ask Lady Dorset. And I know she’s a spiritualist.”

“And an advocate of buggery,” Gertrude hissed, reminding him of an angry goose. “She is friends with that degenerate Irishman, Wilde. And there are worse things said of her. This Madame associated with the scum of Paris. Prostitutes and artists and writers,” she told him.

Thor resisted the urge to ask if she thought those three were on the same level of moral degradation, instead saying, “I read that editorial and she merely pointed out the hypocrisy in the system. As for past deals, I know no more than you do. There is a lot of talk and no substance behind it. Even if there was, I only helped her return home safely.”

“Swear it, Thor,” his aunt demanded. “Swear to me that you will have no further dealings with that woman.”

Mild irritation at a meddlesome old lady turned into indignation. Throwing himself from the chair, Thor reminded her, “I am a grown man, aunty. You cannot forbid me from associating with anyone. Besides, Madame Melusine might be a bit bohemian, but she isn’t the depraved harlot you seem to think she is. If we cross paths, I have no intention of further insulting the woman.”

“Your actions reflect on this family, Thor,” she argued sourly. “I have a right to speak up when your behavior reflects poorly on me and our family name.”

Swiftly running out of patience, Thor said, “Yes, but I have the right to ignore it. The title, the estates, the money, it’s in my name, you can’t punish me like when I was a boy.” Ready to be done with the conversation, he sighed, “I mean to comport myself with dignity going forward. No more drunken carousing or whores or gambling.” She opened her mouth, but sensing her next words, he interrupted, “And I will think about…” He drained the last of his drink, knowing his next words would come back to bite him, then confided, “I will think about finding a wife.”

“Julia Dorset,” she suggested pointedly.

“Not Julia Dorset,” he retorted. “But I am open to the idea of marrying, just not one of your friends’ cow-eyed daughters. You’ve always said I need a wife who will keep me in line like my father,” he joked, hoping to lighten the mood.

Her elegantly wrinkled face twitched and then broke into a grudging smile before she relented with a small laugh, “Oh very well, you wicked boy.”

With the storm receding, Thor could mollify his aunt with contrite words and lavender tea. He loved Gertrude, for all her meddling, and Thor knew he had been acting like a barbarian since his return to England. Of course, he could hardly tell her that his wild and desolate lifestyle had been part of a curse. It sounded like a pathetic attempt at a lie, or worse, the first signs of madness. Once he had allayed her fears, they actually had a fairly enjoyable visit. By the time he handed her back into her carriage, Gertrude was smiling, though she wrung another promise of good behavior out of him before she left. 

Once again alone in the peace of his study, Thor sank into his chair for a much needed moment of quiet, but a tap on the door brought him up short. The footman had been waiting after returning from the Madame’s. Thanking the stars for Jenkins’ good sense not to interrupt while Gertrude was in the house, Thor waved him in. He did not want to think of the kind of explosion that would have occurred had his aunt found out he was sending the seer gifts.

Relieved, Thor greeted him, “Ah, Jenkins, were you successful? Was the Madame well?” he demanded, ignoring Jenkins’ bemused expression. “Did you see her?”

Nodding deferentially, Jenkins said, “Yes, my lord. I caught a glimpse of the Madame as she dined, but her housekeeper told me her lady was well.”

“Did she ask who sent you?”

“She did, but I did not say,” Jenkins assured him politely. When his lord indicated he wished to hear more, the servant said, “Ah, she sounded pleased; I could hear her from the other room. Miss Darcy thanked me.”

Foot tapping briskly, Thor thanked Jenkins and dismissed him. 

At least Madame Melusine was not driven to madness, thankfully. Relieved, Thor exhaled deeply and took a few minutes to regain his composure. He had a chance to make things right, at least. The how of it would be more difficult, but not impossible. At least, Thor fervently hoped it was possible. At the very least, he would try.

***

“Pears,” Loki trilled brightly, his humor improving dramatically with the unexpected gift. Reaching into the box, he plucked one up and breathed in its sweet, warm scent, savoring the ripe flesh brushing against his lips. “Did he say nothing else?” he asked curiously. 

Darcy shook her head, “No Madame, only that it was a gift and the sender wished to remain unknown. It’s very mysterious.” Poking around in the shredded newsprint bedding, she exclaimed, “Oh, there’s tea as well.” The housekeeper lifted up a shiny tin with a bright red label and posh lettering. “They sent the good stuff,” Darcy told him conspiratorially.

“The pear blossom means friendship, unity, and hope,” Loki said thoughtfully, rolling the fruit between his hands gently. “An odd choice, really. If a suitor heard I was taken ill, I would have expected oranges or limes… I wonder who sent this.” 

“Well,” Darcy said bracingly. “Since we aren’t to go to Malta after all, you’ll have plenty of time to discover them.” 

Loki stuck his tongue out at her and made a face, “I _know_. I was looking forward to a change of scenery too, but all the signs warn against travel. Whether I like it or not, I am meant to be in London.” Tugging playfully at her apron strings, Loki sighed wistfully, “Ah well, next season perhaps. Maybe even Greece, if the place is stable, if the Ottomans haven’t invaded. I’ve heard delicious things about the island of Crete.”

Grinning, Darcy bustled off to make tea and, no doubt, wait for the nervous young postman she had been tormenting lately. The poor boy was totally unprepared for Darcy’s American forthrightness and ample charms. It was a daily source of entertainment for him to watch his pretty housekeeper bat her lashes and turn the postman scarlet. Last week, the poor boy had tripped over his own feet and fallen off the stoop. With the post arriving ten times a day, the height of modern convenience, there was no shortage of good drama on his doorstep. Eager for a good laugh, Loki peeked out the front window in hopes of spotting the pitiable man.

Disappointed, Loki returned to the little wooden crate and the mystery it held. He had more than one admirer and this was not his first unexpected anonymous gift. The difference was, all those before had been sent by people who actually wanted to be found out. Generally there was some clue that hinted at the sender’s identity or, at the very least, a note. The men who had been paying him court recently would all have given him a hint. After searching through the paper packing, Loki called for Darcy, but his hunch that some clue had been left in the tea tin bore no fruit. Thwarted, Loki dropped into the chair at his tea table and regarded the box pensively.

He did have one theory, though it seemed rather silly. Running a finger over the stamp burned into the wood, Loki considered. The mark was Italian, the fruit perfectly ripe and unblemished, which meant the giver was someone of great means and connections abroad. That narrowed the field a little, but not nearly enough. Giving up on mundane means of discerning the truth, Loki took up one of the pears and again breathed in its sent. 

After a moment, he closed his eyes and he brushed his tongue against the cool flesh as he would the skin of a lover’s neck and murmured, “Tell me your secret.” 

He tasted fresh air, rain, ozone, leather, something exotic, and clean aftershave. Behind his eyes he saw sunlight golden hair and eyes as blue as the summer sky. Smirking, Loki pressed a hot kiss to the suddenly warm flesh of the fruit, knowing the sender would feel it against his skin as acutely as if Loki had kissed him on the cheek. Chuckling under his breath, Loki broke the connection and bit into the pear and enjoyed the sweet juice running down his chin. 

When he finished his treat, Loki sat at his writing desk and penned a short note;

_ **My Lord,** _

_  
_

**Thank you for your kind gift. It was as greatly appreciated as it was unexpected. Perhaps, next time, you will recall that I am a seer and put your name on the package. **

**Warmest Regards, **

_ **Madame L. Melusine** _

A few hours later, Loki was reclining on his favorite chaise lounge reading his old copy of Pride and Prejudice when Darcy brought him a letter. Judging by her grin, the young postman had delivered it and the housekeeper had pestered him to her great delight. Disappointed to have missed the show, Loki insisted she regale him with the tale before he even looked at the letter. Only when he was wiping tears from his eyes did he bother to read the name of the sender. 

_Dear Madame, _

_I fear I cannot take credit for the gift you received. Though I am relieved to hear your health has improved. No doubt you will be well enough to delight us with your gifts at the next party Lady Dorset throws._

_Best regards, _

_Thor Odinson_

“Oh, honestly,” Loki chortled as he read the short note Lord Odinson had sent by the evening post. “What a terrible liar. What can he mean by it?”

The next day was Lady Hurley’s charity picnic at Kensington Park and Loki was expected to attend. As little as he liked outdoor events, it was necessary that he show himself during the day every once in a while for the sake of propriety and to quell the rumors that he was some sort of vampire. He even wore white, choosing a lace blouse and deep green skirt. Darcy took great pleasure in affixing the jaunty, wide-brim straw hat to his head and tying the silk ribbon under his chin. She knew how little he liked wearing anything that did not fit with his usual dark aesthetic. It was bad for his brand.

“Gardenias and pear blossoms,” Darcy noted as she adjusted the foliage in his hat. “What will people think?”

Loki laughed, “What is the purpose of my life if not to make people talk?” Darcy snorted in a very unladylike manner and grinned at him wickedly. 

Pear blossoms meant friendship and hope, while gardenias symbolized purity, love, and refinement, but that was not why his choice would make people talk. There was another meaning commonly used for the gardenia; a hidden love or secret admirer. It would certainly have people hot with speculation, but the true joke was only for one person.

Looking over Darcy’s smart green and white striped dress, Loki commented, “You look very pretty in your Sunday best. Do you have some other victim in your sights or is the postman to meet you there,” he teased as he tugged on one of her curls.

“No,” she said in mock offence. When Loki treated her to a disbelieving look, she chuckled and admitted, “Oh, alright. That footman who works in the Grant household, the one with the freckles, I was hoping to turn his head.”

“Vicious siren,” Loki accused as if shocked. “Perhaps we should leave London before you break the heart of every young man in the city!”

“Only the handsome ones,” Darcy countered, her smile wide. “And you’re sure to break your fair share of fragile male hearts.”

Taking Darcy’s arm, Loki headed to the door as he asked, “Well what else would we do with our time? Embroider cushions? I think not.”

It was a lovely day, if a little too warm for Loki’s taste. It was one of those rare early summer days where the sun shone bright in a sky the color of a robin’s egg. The scent of flowers and fresh cut grass perfumed the breeze and excited voices echoed from the open park. Loki straightened his hat and scanned the crowd for acquaintances. Oddly, there seemed to be more unfriendly faces than he had expected. 

The park was full of booths and games meant to fleece money from wealthy people so they could say they had given to charity. Such events were a nice way for London’s elite to show how caring they were without actually having to interact with those less fortunate. There would be money raised today, but Loki could not help but think that more good would be done if these people actually went and volunteered at the church missions and slums of London, though the peerage of the realm would be as likely to set themselves on fire as rub elbows with the truly poor. Having been in such desperate straits himself, Loki often gave his time to such missions, not that he publicized it as these people did.

“Do you need me, Madame?” Darcy asked excitedly as she shielded her eyes from the sun.

“No, my dear, go and enjoy yourself.”

Walking through the crowd of gaily dressed people, Loki searched for his friends and tried to avoid losing his hat to a brisk wind. He caught the eye of Anne Basset, a young lady with whom he frequently socialized, but she turned away sharply, giving him her shoulder. Julia Dorset waved tentatively, but her friends quickly drew her away. As he walked among them, Loki became aware of a hissing whisper going through the crowd.

“Wilde,” he heard someone mutter disapprovingly. 

Ah, now he understood. He was being shunned for his public defense of his disgraced friend Oscar Wilde. With everything else going on in his life, Loki had forgotten about the letter he had written to the papers. Poor Oscar, the delicate dandy, condemned to hard labor and societal stigma for daring to love another man. Loki had to stand up for him, even if had not been able to dissuade him from his foolish tactics in court. Though it looked as if his social currency was all but spent, Loki could not regret defending his friend.

Curious to see just how badly he had damaged his reputation, Loki continued to wander through the crowd, looking for anyone who might be sympathetic. He saw several people he had considered the sort of shallow friends of high society, but they all turned up their noses as if he carried a foul stench. Among his new detractors was the young Sir Andrew Manley, who had so ardently courted him only last week. All the constancy of a weathervane, Loki snorted derisively. 

Loki was not particularly hurt by this sudden plunge of his popularity, he hardly cared for most of those people anyway, they were silly and vain. It did annoy him that women whose husbands frequented brothels and kept mistresses could turn on Wilde for his affairs with another man. What was the difference, really? No one had been harmed, none of his lovers accused him of assault or rape. Gods knew more than a few of the gentlemen of the court were guilty of worse and they were still warmly received by all these hypocrites. 

“Loki, my dear,” a voice called, the greeting pointedly loud. Turning he saw Victoria Fowlhurst coming towards him, her expression troubled. When she reached him, the girl said, “Well, you’ve ruffled some feathers this time. What possessed you to write the _Times_?”

Folding his arms stubbornly over his chest, Loki rejoined, “You know damn well Oscar did nothing to deserve the punishment he was given. It’s a terrible miscarriage of justice.” 

Looking around furtively, Victoria whispered, “That may be, but you throwing away your social standing isn’t going to help me, Loki.”

“Perhaps, but I couldn’t just pretend it was right,” Loki huffed. “If they’re so determined to shun me I will just go back to the Continent. I’ve nothing to keep me in London,” he lied easily. Victoria did not need to know about demons and curses. “Should you be associating with me?” Loki asked seriously. “I would hate for you to catch my social leprosy. It’s catching you know and you can hardly afford it while trying to secure that boy of yours.”

Lifting her chin, Victoria said with surprising conviction, “If you can stand by Mr. Wilde, Ican stand by you, Loki. They will find something else to be offended by in a few weeks.”

Resolutely, the normally mild Victoria looped her arm through Loki’s and marched him to the refreshment stand with all the dignity a nineteen year old girl in pink muslin could muster. Loki was honestly touched by her stalwart friendship. He would not have begrudged her for avoiding him; her father was a strict man and Victoria was still in the market for a suitable husband. Taking Loki’s side would cost her.

Squeezing Victoria’s hand, Loki said earnestly, “Thank you, dear friend. I cannot express how grateful I am, but please, do not risk too much on my account.”

Stopping to get them both punch, Victoria sniffed, “I risk losing fair-weather friends and nothing more. What have I done, anyway? Kept faith with a dear friend who only spoke the truth?”

“You are a lily among thorns, Miss Fowlhurst.”

Waving her fan at him, she laughed, “Oh hold that silver tongue of yours, Madame.” 

Once they had cheese and cress sandwiches, pound cake, and punch on their ridiculously dainty plate, the two wandered down to the shady trees beside the pond to eat in peace. They found a little bench and watched the swans glide across the green water like fine ladies across a dance floor. Loki had always admired swans; they were beautiful and graceful and perfectly willing to bludgeon fools with their deceptively strong wings. 

Sipping at his dainty cup of punch, Loki spotted an unusually tall figure among a cluster of young men. Lord Odinson stood some five yards away, closer to the water, with a group of his friends. When their eyes met, Loki raised a hand in a tentative greeting and was relieved to receive a smile and a respectful nod.

“Well, it seems our little party of exiles might have company,” Victoria noted slyly.


	4. The Wheel (Art)

/> 


	5. The Nine of Swords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Thor tiptoe around their budding relationship as they dance and help the poor and the demon returns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a huge thank you to ktspree13 for being such a great editor and sherlocksmolmes for being so amazingly supportive!

The day was fine and bright, perfect for hunting, and Thor had no desire to waste such a lovely afternoon making mindless small talk. These charity events were always dreadfully dull, but there would be a flock of pretty young ladies whom he could make a show of considering for marriage. He had no desire to marry just yet, but it would please Aunt Gertrude and keep her off his scent for a time. Of course, he would pay for that suggestion, as she had run to tell all of her friends with eligible daughters that he was in want of a bride.

Thor had hardly arrived before he was accosted by various acquaintances of his aunt’s and their young female relatives who all batted their eyelashes and giggled at him attractively. While he enjoyed feminine attention, he did not take pleasure in it when they were all trying to rope him into matrimony. It was not that he was totally against marriage; he had always assumed he would marry someday, but these people all seemed to think his voicing an interest in the institution meant he wanted to find himself at the church doors tomorrow. Jane Austen was not exaggerating, he reflected regretfully.

Much to his relief, salvation arrived in the form of his friend’s younger sister who was without an escort. Jon had been a little hesitant to let Thor accompany his sister, and Thor did not need to wonder why, but he swore on his mother’s soul that he would be a proper gentleman and Jon relented. If nothing else, it was a step in rehabilitating his reputation. Miss Lucy Aster was a pretty and vivacious girl and good company. With a young lady on his arm, he could at least hope to avoid the more tenacious women looking for a husband. She was a very pleasant shield indeed, though it soon became clear that she too had heard the rumor that he was thinking of settling down.

Lucy was a proper lady and his aunt would no doubt take this as a sign he meant to court the girl, though she was barely seventeen and too young in his opinion. Even so, she was a very pretty thing with a heart-shaped face and large brown eyes and a warm smile. She wore a demure, but frilly frock of pale pink with an equally lacy hat perched on her abundant blonde curls. The entire time their party was strolling down to the park, Lucy kept her eyes on him, making Thor feel a little uncomfortable, but he ignored it. She was just a girl after all.

Pleasant though she was Thor was more interested in meeting up with his friends than entertaining a young girl all day. It was honestly a relief when he was able to pawn her off on a group of her friends and escape to a place where the men were congregating. Thankfully, two of them were smoking, which meant the women would steer clear, as it was considered rude to approach a man with a lit cigar as he would be obliged to put it out to speak with her. Using the smoke as a cover, Thor breathed a sigh of relief to be free at last. Escaping to the lakeside for some masculine company, Thor joined his friends and was soon drawn into a debate involving a polo match played a few days before. In their small herd, he was mostly safe from ‘eligible’ ladies. Volstagg, who was no horseman, was loudly arguing his point between bites of finger sandwiches. It was entertaining to see the large man get worked up over a sport he could not play. The conversation got heated and Thor rather enjoyed the boisterousness of it.

Their talk turned more serious when Volstagg asked about the situation in the East End. Apparently there was a terrible case of influenza that was sweeping through the poorest parts of London and the local authorities were overwhelmed. It was rumored that London’s elite might flee the city for safe havens like Bath and Ramsgate. 

As he scanned the crowd of well dressed elite searching for other acquaintances, Thor spotted two women sitting alone on a bench. They were clearly part of the charity festival, but something set them apart, almost as if they were being avoided or avoiding others. It took him a moment to realize why. In delicate white lace and gilded by sunlight, Madame Melusine was transformed from mystical spiritualist to charming young lady. Out of her dark clothes and usual setting, she seemed like a totally different person, more approachable and softer somehow. Noticing his interest, the Madame gave him a graceful wave which he returned with a slightly surprised smile.

With her letter defending Wilde fresh in everyone’s mind, he was not surprised to see the Madame was suffering some backlash. It was unfair, of course, but there was little he could do about high society chastising her for her radical views. She was not alone, he was glad to see, as one other lady seemed to be sharing her banishment. Thor thought he had met the other woman, but he could not be sure.

Noting the object of Thor’s attention, Hogun remarked, “The Madame.”

“What of her,” Thor asked a little more defensively than he had intended.

Shrugging, Jon Aster said, “Well, everyone is talking about how you went home with her the other night. Speculation is rampant,” his friend warned.

Thor snorted, “I did not go home with her. She fainted and I helped her to her door as a favor, nothing more. You’re as bad as Aunt Gertrude with the gossip.”

“Oh, don’t be sour,” Volstagg cajoled, slapping Thor on the back. “We only worry for your reputation. Even you admitted you’ve been acting rashly of late and the Madame is known for having a string of suitors.”

Thor turned on his friend sharply, demanding, “And these suitors claim she allowed them liberties? That is a lady’s reputation you are threatening with that talk.”

“Good gods, Thor,” Jon exclaimed. “You haven’t been courting her have you?”

Bristling with irritation, Thor retorted, “No, but as gentlemen we should be above spreading gossip that might ruin an innocent woman. Do you have proof she has done anything more than flirt like a Frenchwoman?”

Though he was right, Thor knew he had convinced no one. Even he was not sure why the suggestion of the Madame’s affairs would anger him so much. Despite his efforts, it did look like he was defending her because he was secretly among her suitors and his escorting her home only added fuel to the fire. Aunt Gertrude’s wig would catch fire from the sheer heat of her displeasure when she heard that one, Thor had no doubt. Still, he could not simply bite his tongue and let people slander a good, if admittedly odd, woman.His friends shared a concerned look before Hogun said, “There is no proof, but she has a herd of suitors, or she did before that letter to the _Times_.”

“Have you seen it?” Jon asked, scandalized. “She defended Oscar Wilde in the papers. That’s why she’s off on her own instead of holding court like she normally does.”

“Yes, I have read it,” Thor snapped. “And the Madame acquitted herself very well. Her arguments were well executed and I tend to agree with her. What right does the Crown have to dictate what grown adults do in private?”

The moment the words were out of his mouth, Thor knew he had just succeeded in convincing all of his friends that he was, in fact, having an affair with Madame Melusine. Really Thor was almost impressed with his own flexibility for so perfectly sticking his foot in his mouth. His only consolation was that his friends would not spread the gossip.

“Are you condoning sodomy?” Jon demanded in a hiss as he quickly checked to be sure no one could hear them.

In frustration, Thor grunted, “I am only saying that she had a point. There are crimes that cause real harm and the Crown does nothing, while taxpayer money is spent incarcerating harmless men like Wilde.”

“I…suppose that is one way of looking at it,” Volstagg allowed awkwardly.

It was a good thing Aunt Gertrude had not attended or he would have never heard the end of it. Just then, Lucy Aster arrived with her mother to collect her brother, Jon, and Thor for a picnic lunch. He had planned to avoid sitting with the family for the meal, but now he was grateful to have a polite bulwark between himself and his friends’ speculation.

“I am famished,” the girl announced as she took Thor’s offered arm. “Mother packed her jam tarts. We have a quilt laid out under a willow by the lake,” she told him excitedly.

More interested in the food than the company, Thor allowed himself to be towed towards the picnic. While Mrs. Aster was a bit dull, her kitchen was good enough to make up for it. Miss Lucy was agreeable, the food would be good, and Jon would not be able to needle him about the Madame. Thor could think of worse ways to pass the day. Looking away from Lucy, he realized they were about to pass close by the Madame, who was chatting with her blonde friend.

Gasping excitedly, Lucy cooed, “Oh, my lord, Jon said you are acquainted with the Madame! Would you introduce us, please? I would love for her to read my palm.”

Loosening his collar, Thor allowed, “We have met before, yes.”

“Lucy dear, come away,” Mrs. Aster ordered. “That woman is a disgrace.”

Lucy rolled her eyes and chirped, “She’s a spiritualist, mother, of course she is odd. Please introduce us,” she begged, clinging to Thor’s arm. “I would just adore it if she could tell me who I will marry,” she said excitedly as she batted her lashes up at him.

Over her wide hat, Thor met the eyes of her brother and mother, but neither moved to stop her. Apparently, they were not going to tell the innocent girl why the Madame was in disgrace and Thor certainly was not going to. Seeing no other option, he cursed under his breath. Thor agreed and angled them to pass close to the mystic’s bench while Jon escorted his mother onward. He cleared his throat politely to gain the two women’s attention and paused waiting for the Madame to acknowledge them. After patting her friend’s hand, the seer turned to them and smiled in that feline way she had.

“My Lord Odinson,” she greeted pleasantly as she and her friend stood.

“Madame Melusine,” Thor said coolly, taking her slender hand to press a kiss to the knuckles. When she smiled at him, he explained, “May I introduce you to Miss Lucy Aster? She has expressed a desire to be acquainted with you. Miss Aster has heard all about your gifts.”

The Madame turned her leonine smile on the girl and purred, “Bonjour, mademoiselle. It is lovely to meet you. This is my dear friend, Miss Victoria Fowlhurst.”

“I was hoping you would read my palm, Madame,” Lucy simpered, eagerly holding her hand out to the seer as though she expected her to read it right there.

Embarrassed, Thor tried to interject, “I realize this is not the most opportune moment. Perhaps Miss Aster could make an appointment with you, Madame.”

“Oh, no!” Lucy whined. “Oh, please. I have been dying to know who I shall marry,” the girl pleaded, her big eyes darting between the seer and Thor himself. “Please, Madame Melusine. Everyone says your predictions are the most accurate.”

***

It was almost too amusing to keep a straight face. The girl was a blushing virgin enjoying her debut season and here she was making cow eyes at Lord Thor Odinson, the great hunter and womanizer. She was a lamb flirting with a hungry lion and she had no idea. _Foolish child, he needs more than you could ever give_, Loki thought pityingly.

Fear no longer bubbled up in his stomach when he saw Odinson after their conversation the other night. Loki believed he had been earnest when he apologized. Maybe it was foolish, but he hoped Odinson would prove to be a good person without the influence of the ill-wishing.

Smiling as sweet as poison, Loki gracefully took the girl’s hand, saying, “Miss Lucy, how good to meet you.” He only glanced at her soft, pink palm for a moment before answering, for he did not care, and needed no magic to know she would never marry the man beside her. “I see your love line is long. You will have good fortune in love… You are young and pretty and know little of the world. Beware mistaking a wolf for a prince. It is not always easy to tell them apart.”

The girl seemed a little disappointed and on the verge of asking again when Loki said, “I cannot foresee everything, my dear. If I could, I would invest my money, make a fortune, and retire to Malta after I bought it from the Crown.”

Odinson’s face was colored a light shade of pink and he tried to avoid Loki’s gaze. The man seemed embarrassed to be seen with the silly young thing, which only made Loki want to laugh all the harder. She did seem rather young for Odinson and Loki wondered if he was escorting her as a favor or if he knew her family well.

“Is that all you see, Madame?” the girl pressed.

Smirking coyly, Loki finished, “You will marry for love, I am sure. Only take care to fall in love with a kind man of good fortune.” Before Miss Aster could ask for more, Loki said, “Good day, miss, my lord.”

He and Victoria had been about to go play some of the fair games when Odinson and the girl had walked by and Loki was getting bored of the little bird. Normally, he did not give readings on the spot, or for free. Odinson had received a reading the night they met only because it was a welcome party in his honor. Loki would have refused the girl, but he was just thankful to have someone willing to speak to him. Not to mention, the discomfort Odinson displayed had been quite entertaining.

Seized by a need for mischief as they parted, Loki threw over his shoulder, “Oh, my lord, you are coming to the assembly at Saint James’ tonight, are you not? How will I pass the evening if you are not there?” Giggling darkly at the girl’s crestfallen expression, Loki and Victoria swept away from them, arm in arm.

She and Victoria continued their stroll down to the picnic area with Victoria giggling behind her fan at the girl’s pouting face. There was a reason they were friends, Loki reflected as she sniggered into his shoulder. Even Victoria had seen how mismatched the pair was. It was obvious that they would not make a happy marriage.

“Poor Miss Aster,” Loki whispered. “How disappointed she will be when Lord Odinson takes a fancy to some other young lady.”

Fanning herself, Victoria commented, “Can you imagine if they did marry? She would be miserable as Lady Odinson. The man is a notorious womanizer.”

“Perhaps he does mean to take a wife now that he has returned from Africa,” Loki conjectured, his lips twitching. “Their wedding will be very grand,” he joked, laughing at Victoria’s undignified snort.

As they came to the place where the games were set up, Victoria asked, “Are you really going to Saint James’ tonight or were you just tweaking Miss Aster’s nose?”

“Well, I am now.”

***

That evening, dressed in complementary gowns of blue and yellow, Loki and Victoria arrived at Saint James’ just as the sun went down. At first, it seemed no one would speak to them in punishment for Loki’s letter to the _Times_, but then a few of the more progressive young ladies plucked up the courage to approach them. In the lead was Lady Wilhelmina Chandler, the daughter of a baronet. After Lady Wilhelmina greeted Loki, a few more wandered over to join their conversation. Many of the older ladies continued to turn their noses up at them, but Loki was heartened to have support.

“I was shocked to read your letter,” Wilhelmina told him seriously. “But you made some valid points, Madame. There are worse crimes being ignored.”

They discussed the details of Wilde’s case and the issues Loki had highlighted in his letter. Some of the more conservative ladies said the topic was inappropriate, but the suffragettes among the group quickly shot them down. One of Lady Wilhelmina’s friends argued that it was their duty to be educated and involved in the rule of their realm. Eventually, even Lady Dorset drifted into Loki’s circle. Loki knew he was not totally forgiven, but at least he would not be run out of London by a mob with torches and pitchforks.

The conversation turned from such inflammatory subjects to the disappointing lack of gentleman in the main rooms. With only a few older men in attendance, they could not have a dance or even flirt. Most of the young men were off in the billiards room with the tri-fold doors closed to keep out the rest of the gathering. Beyond the doors, the ladies caught glimpses of the gentlemen weathered in a cloud of cigar smoke, no doubt celebrating their social superiority.

After half an hour of inane small talk, he and Victoria were plotting an early escape when he spotted Odinson weaving through the crowd. They met each other’s eyes and Loki smiled as the gentleman changed course to meet them. After their last encounter, Loki was actually pleased to see him as he might also be prevailed upon to shoo some of the young men out of the billiards room to start a dance.

“Good evening, Madame,” Odinson rumbled as he bowed over Loki’s soft hand. Smiling, the lord said, “You are looking particularly enchanting this evening.” With a teasing smile, the lord murmured, “Could I interest you in a game of billiards?”

Loki laughed, but Lady Dorset, who could scent a scandal from a mile away, came out of the crowd and gasped dramatically, “My lord! You know ladies are not allowed in the billiard halls!”

Over the whispers of shock, Odinson reasoned, “Well, perhaps it is time those rules change. Besides, Madame Melusine is a forward thinking woman who does not let such outdated customs constrain her,” the lord said with a cheeky grin. “What do you say, Madame? Are you in a gambling mood?”

Feeling the heat flood up his neck, Loki removed his hand from Lord Odinson’s grip and cast him a cutting look, saying, “My Lord, I do gamble, but only with what I care to lose. I fear you would have me at a great disadvantage. Billiards is not a lady’s game.”

Being salacious for his own amusement was one thing, but to have this arrogant prig suggest that he might consort alone with men was quite another. Irreverent and a little outrageous, he might be, but no one could call his conduct unseemly when it came to men. Flirting and teasing, yes, but nothing that could be used to prove that Loki was loose. He was a well-known flirt with a reputation as something of a vamp, but that was all part of his persona as a fashionably bohemian Parisian. High society would only tolerate so much mischief before he was branded a scarlet woman and shunned. He could feel the gossip breeding behind him and he knew he had to find a way to staunch the flow.

Smiling darkly, Loki tilted his head to the side coquettishly and called to the young women of his acquaintance, “Well, this rogue seems to think I am a lamb lost in the woods to be so easily led away from the flock.” Tapping his smirking lips with one black gloved finger, he said, “I think that deserves some form of punishment, don’t you?”

“Quite right,” clucked one of the old hens. “The young men these days have no decorum.”

“I think such an offence deserves a response of some scale,” Loki told them seriously. “Ladies, our sacred honor has been attacked, I believe this calls for an invasion.”

There were titters from the ladies before Victoria asked, “Whatever do you mean?”

Grinning wickedly up at the lord who now looked rather less sure of himself, Loki told her, “I mean we storm the billiards room. We shall take the hall like Wellington took Waterloo and teach this scoundrel that we ladies stand together.”

“Here, here,” declared Miss Georgette Darling, a scandalously vocal suffragette and one of Loki’s supporters. She was echoed by a few others.

“Ladies, to the billiards room,” gasped old Lady Edmonton.

Laughing brightly, Loki rejoined, “Oh, my lady, don’t look so horrified. It’s the dawn of a new age; the Queen is still on her throne, London is full of electric lights, and before long we might even be able to vote! If our empire can be led by a woman, why should we not play billiards?” When Lady Edmonton puffed up like an angry hen, Loki joked, “Come now, my lady, if I behaved myself whatever would you talk about at tea tomorrow? The rising cost of sugar?”

The older women spluttered and protested, but Loki had stoked the fires of the younger ladies and saw he would succeed tonight. No one would remember exactly what had been said; by tomorrow, it would be reported that one of the gentleman had tried to tease Madame Melusine by suggesting she play billiards and the Madame had lead a joyful assault on the bastion of male supremacy to much amusement from her peers. That was a story Loki could live with.

Tucking his arm through Lord Odinson’s he said dramatically, “Lead on, my lord! _Vive la révolution_!” Crossing the parlor as if it were a triumphal progress, Loki called for a servant to open the doors to the billiards room and he and seven other ladies entered.

An hour later, Loki had won two rounds of billiards, scandalized many onlookers by teaching Victoria Fowlhurst and Georgette Darling to shoot pool tolerably well, and took £15 off the young men of the assembly. With the doors to the billiards room open onto the main hall, their activities could be monitored and rumors of impropriety kept to a minimum. Ladies playing pool was still sensational, but under the watchful eye of their elders in a reputable assembly such as Saint James’, it could be relegated to the level of scandal reserved for women who rode bicycles in parks and traveled unaccompanied.

Odinson quickly became the lightning rod of the gentlemen’s displeasure when the ladies invaded. There were some flustered complaints, but it was difficult for them to be too unhappy about a bunch of pretty young women joining them. Loki turned on his sparkling charm and soon had everyone at ease. Lord Odinson quickly moved among the men, assuring them the ladies would soon grow bored and return to the main rooms.

While Loki sharked pool and flirted with all the men, he could tell the young lord was watching him as he moved about the room. He seemed to be a little on edge, though that might have been because he was losing money. The cut of Loki’s dress was just low enough to display a little décolletage, which kept drawing the lord’s eye. Before sinking a particularly impressive shot, Loki flicked a playful smirk up at Odinson.

Feeling very smug, Loki sauntered over to Lord Odinson and held out his hand and purred sweetly, “I believe the wager was £2, my lord.” When he dug for his billfold, Loki smirked and leaned close, whispering, “Have a care, sir, with how you handle my reputation, for it is not yours to risk.” When he produced the notes due, Loki offered him a most winning smile and held out his hand. “Let’s shake hands. Shall we be friends?”

Before the lord could answer Georgette Darling rushed up to them, flushed with the £3 she had won and the glass of brandy someone had passed her, trilling, “Madame, where did you learn to play so well? I never would have guessed!”

“My husband was much taken with the game and taught me so that he could practice at home,” Loki lied carelessly. Of course, he was not going to admit to learning to cheat at billiards, and cards, while spending his nights at the Moulin Rouge. What he had done with his life before he had become Madame Melusine was no one’s concern but his own.

Nodding sagely, Georgette exclaimed, a little too loudly, “Oh! They’re playing a waltz! I haven’t had a dance all night!”

“But you have had a glass of brandy and I think that is quite enough,” Victoria said, easing the mostly empty glass from her fingers. “Though a dance would suit me just fine. It is why we came here, after all.”

There was quick agreement among the young people that they had all won, or lost, enough at billiards for the evening and there followed an exodus to the dance floor. Tossing his hair over his very white shoulder, Loki cast a coy look up at Lord Odinson. Most of the others had paired off and taken to the floor, but they lingered behind.

“Should we dance, do you think,” Loki asked thoughtfully. “Or would that be too predictable? I do abhor doing what people expect of me.”

Smiling languidly, Odinson offered his hand saying, “Dancing would be most agreeable, Madame.”

Beaming, Loki took the offered hand and allowed himself to be swept onto the dance floor. It was rare that Loki found a dance partner so much taller than himself. In fact, it was one of the things he and Oscar Wilde had first bonded over as they were both above average in height. Odinson was even taller and broader, which made Loki feel honestly dainty in comparison. It was a pleasant experience.

“Are you pleased with your winnings, Madame,” Odinson inquired politely as he spun them across the dance floor. “Perhaps you should invest it. Or purchase another fine gown like this one,” he suggested as his blue eyes once again traveled over Loki’s body.

“Oh, I am very pleased,” Loki told him brightly. “Even if I had lost money, it would still have been worth it to see the consternation on everyone’s faces.”

They chuckled together before Odinson commented, “You dance very well, Madame.”

“Thank you, I have practiced a great deal. It is a lovely change to have a talented partner who is taller than I am.”

“I can imagine that would be a problem,” he conceded. “Are you enjoying the waltz?”

“Very much, my lord.”

Lord Odinson was a very fine dancer and Loki was enjoying himself immensely. Being taller than most of the men in her circle, Loki did not often dance as few men wanted to look up to their dance partners, and he did not rather enjoy stooping to accommodate. In contrast, Lord Odinson was tall enough to necessitate Loki tilting his head back just a little to meet his eyes. His partner seemed to be enjoying the dance as well, though the slight stiffness in his posture told Loki he had not forgotten what lay hidden under his skirts. 

In another life, Loki would have been very taken with the charming, handsome young lord with the easy smile and the sky blue eyes, in fact he rather was, but he would never do more than flirt and tease. Even though Lord Odinson knew his secret, it changed nothing. Though his eyes lingered on the curve of breasts and his big hand held Loki’s back gently, the attraction was superficial. Loki could hardly imagine the man would be able to get over his having a cock. Executing a graceful turn, Loki cast his partner a pensive glance under his dark lashes.

“Tell me, my lord,” he said quietly. “And be truthful, for I have no one else I can ask. What do you see when you look at me? I often wonder how I am perceived by others, but I can hardly get a fair reading…”

Using the steps of the dance to take in Loki’s full appearance, Odinson inquired, “Does it concern you, Madame? How others see you, I mean?”

Moving through the next form in the dance, Loki said quietly, “It could mean my life.”

After another few seconds, Odinson answered, "I see a stunningly beautiful, mysterious, confident woman of means. Well educated and poised, with class and good breeding but with a mischievous side that might frighten some but intrigue others."

Loki smiled at the description Lord Odinson gave and he deeply wished it were true. If he were the woman he described, this night might lead to a very different end. But he was not a woman, not truly, and they both knew it. Despite the full social calendar and numerous acquaintances, Loki was lonely. His steamer trunk of secrets required he keep everyone at arm’s length. His marriage had been built on lies and deceit, but at least with En, Loki had never had to pretend to be anything but what he was. He was always putting on an act for someone and it was so tiring. Lord Odinson was attractive and charismatic and though his temper led him astray, Loki could sense a great deal of good in him. In another life, they would have made a fine match.

Smiling warmly, the lord ventured in an undertone, “Might I ask you something…a bit improper?” 

“You may,” Loki rejoined in an undertone. “Though I may choose not to answer.” 

Nodding with amusement, he asked, “Your late husband...I have heard several versions of how he passed. He was a young man, was he not?”

“Monsieur Melusine was in his fifties when we met. I fear I was exactly the sort of second wife rich men hope for and old ladies warn against,” Loki explained between turns. “It was consumption; we even moved to Algeria and then Egypt in hopes of improving his health, the warm, dry air, you know.” Sighing, Loki continued his lie, “Sadly, my poor husband lived only a little more than a year after our marriage.”

They talked throughout the dance, and continued on to another, and then a third. When the third song ended, Loki gave a little curtsey before saying, “I need a drink.” It was written all over Odinson’s face how badly he wanted to ask if Monsieur Melusine had known how his body was made.

At the refreshment table, Loki sipped his wine and fanned himself lightly. It was a bit warm in the assembly rooms and being so close to a handsome man was only making his blood run hotter. He knew people were talking, two people could not dance three waltzes together and not raise a few eyebrows, but he could not care. It felt good to be in the arms of a man again and he did not want to give it up just yet. Lord Odinson had stayed beside him, even after they left the dance floor and it pleased Loki more than it should that he kept close enough to brush his arm against his when they moved.

As they stood to the side, watching the next dance, Odinson asked, “What made you ask me about…that?”

Over his wine, Loki said quietly, “I do not care exactly what people think of me in the way most do…but, I do sometimes find myself worrying that someone will guess my secret. There is no one else who knows…that...about me. So I have no one else to ask.” Forcing a cheerful smile, he inclined his head towards a knot of young ladies not far off, observing, “Your admirers will be plotting my death after I’ve monopolized your dance card like this. Perhaps you should ask one of them to stand up with you next.”

Cocking his head to the side, Odinson shrugged, "If you insist, Madame. Though, I would escort you to your friends first.” Despite that, neither of them made any attempt to move. Instead, Odinson took Loki’s hand again and said earnestly, “Once again, I find myself required to apologize for my behavior. My comments were made in jest, but I should have thought of how it would look…Although, I can see you are more than capable of protecting your own reputation. You would never know the scandal you caused this morning. People clearly adore you.”

“Consider it forgotten,” Loki said, subtly running his fingers over Odinson’s broad palm while he held his hand. Loki smiled sadly, “But you are wrong. I am not adored. I am the entertainment.” Inclining his head, he drew his partner’s attention to the many faces turned towards them, whispering, “See how they watch me? The Bard said ‘all the world’s a stage,’ and for me, it’s true. No one knows what I might say or do and everyone enjoys gossiping about my antics the next day. Inviting me to your ball or assembly ensures your guests will be talking about it tomorrow.” He shrugged delicately. “I do not mind. Being salacious is what I do best…though, it does grow rather wearisome at times. When you perform, there is always a sheet of glass between you and the audience.”

Putting on his best, most stage-worthy smile, Loki shook his hair out and said, “Thank you for dancing with me. As many balls and parties as I attend, I rarely dance and I do so enjoy it. It’s not often I find a partner taller than me, and even rarer when I needn’t worry about them treading on my frock and tearing it.” At the lord’s surprised laugh, Loki joked, “See, I am always saying something very wicked, even when I don’t mean to.”

Sighing theatrically, Loki lamented, “Ah well, I suppose I must release you to go pay court to one of those young ladies over there.”

The ladies in question had shuffled closer while they spoke, all looking as if they simply happened to be congregating there by chance, despite their eyes constantly sliding towards Lord Odinson. _Ah, young girls, never as subtle as they think_, Loki laughed to himself. Repressing a knowing smile, Loki gestured in their direction with his fan, acting as if it were a mere flick of the fan instead of pointing.

“That one in the pink taffeta, Miss Sarah Anderson, is giving you cow eyes so hard I wonder they haven’t fallen out,” Loki told him without looking. “Her father owns a block a factories and her dowry is very large. Pick her if you like nice, bland virgins. She’ll make a lovely, if unremarkable, housewife.” Under his breath he went on, “Her friend in the blue satin is Miss Eliza Beauchamp, she on the other hand, is a social _mountaineer_. I can respect her ambition, but she’s a little vicious, even for me. This is her second season and she’s getting hungrier by the day. _Beware_.” Warming to his subject, he teased, “The other one, Lady Jane Crowley, is sweet, but I have more scintillating conversation from my horse. Poor dear is not very bright at all; too many cousins marrying in her family tree, I think.”

Winking cheekily at the lord, he finished, “Unless you wish to take another turn with me and really scandalize the room, I suggest you pick one. My advice is Miss Anderson, she’s lively enough and she has no fangs.”

Odinson smirked, his eyes bright, and stepped a little closer to Loki. He could feel the heat radiating from the larger man. When his gaze dropped to Loki’s lips, he smiled darkly. Loki sensually toyed with his string of pearls, wrapping them around his finger.

“Fangs,” he rumbled, deep in his chest. “What if I like fangs, Madame?” His full lips twitched up at the corners and he said, “Lead me, and I shall follow, be it the dance floor, your choice of replacement, or anywhere else.”

“Oh, that is a dangerous thing to tell a witch, my lord,” Loki laughed and looped his arm through the lord’s much thicker one. “And equally dangerous to tell a lady who enjoys ruffling feathers wherever she goes. Lucky for you, I fancy another dance and not some real mischief.”

They glided past the knot of unhappy girls and Loki smiled serenely as they took their place on the dance floor. Standing up with the same man four times in one night would be a scandal, but Loki hardly cared. He loved dancing and more people would be talking about his leading young ladies into the billiards room anyway. As long as he and the lord remained in public and did nothing more improper, there would be little enough said about it.

As the music picked up, Loki commented, “I hope you enjoy being the center of gossip, my lord. If you continue to associate with me, there will be talk. There is always talk wherever I go,” he warned softly, his regret clear in his voice.

“They think I am a feral creature,” Odinson reasoned, unconcerned. “I’ve lived in Africa for too long and run too wild. My reputation is not exactly sterling,” he said as he turned Loki gracefully.

“Yes, but they will likely assume…”

Odinson shook his head as he pulled him close, saying, “Yes, but your company is worth it.”

Flushed and surprised, Loki cleared his throat and changed the subject quickly, “Did you hear, there’s been a spike in cases of influenza in Whitechapel? There is some relief work in place, but the disease is so contagious and the area so lawless they are finding it difficult to find anyone to volunteer. “

“I heard that, actually,” Odinson said seriously. “There is a church in Whitechapel that has agreed to host some of us for a few days so we can help them set up clinic space, build bed frames, and haul supplies.”

Brightening, Loki exclaimed, “I have wanted to offer my help, but no one will escort me.”

“Well, it’s hardly the sort of place a lady should go,” the lord explained, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Whitechapel is a cesspit and perilous without the added danger of an influenza outbreak. What if you became ill or ran afoul of some rogue?”

Rolling his eyes, Loki retorted, “Well, I could catch the illness in my home in Belgravia or be attacked on the road. And I want to help those poor people. If some strong, respectable gentleman were to form a party to go to Whitechapel,” he suggested.

Catching his meaning at once, Odinson said sharply, “I will not take you to that godforsaken place, madam. It’s absurd! What would you even do there? You are not a nurse.”

“I volunteered at a hospital in Cairo and Biskra. I have more experience tending the sick than you might think, my lord.”

“That’s as may be, but Whitechapel is –”

“Nothing to the slums of Cairo,” Loki said sharply.

When the dance finished, they were still arguing, the lord unwilling to even consider taking Loki to the affected area despite it being in their city and hardly a journey. Loki, for his part, was sure he could handle himself and only needed a male escort for the sake of propriety. It was so tiresome! Lord Odinson was a huge, imposing man who would scare off any potential criminals. Loki would go alone, but there was no way he could do that safely. 

“I want to help those people,” Loki told the lord fiercely. “You even said you and your friends were planning to go!”

Scowling at his wine, Odinson said, “We are going to be doing hard labor; carrying in supplies and building beds for the local hospital. Work for men, not the sort of thing for a lady. You would be more of a burden than a help as I would need to keep an eye on you.” Loki bristled with a sharp response, but the lord hurried on, “If you joined my party, it would be my responsibility to keep you safe.”

Loki would not be gainsaid and by the time they parted ways, it was Lord Odinson who had lost the war. Before departing for the night, they shook hands and agreed to include Loki in the volunteer effort. They agreed to meet a week hence to set out for Whitechapel with the group, bringing supplies with them. The lord was a bit sour when the assembly ended, but Loki was deeply pleased. 

*** 

Thor spent the week trying to come up with some sort of explanation for why Madame Melusine would be joining their company or some way to persuade her not to come. Though she had waved his concerns off, the truth was, it would look questionable. He had sent more than one letter hoping to change her mind, but the woman was stubborn to a fault. It was infuriating, but eventually, Thor gave up and accepted that she would be coming along. She had, at least, found a few other ladies to join her, which would make the situation look more reputable.

Monday morning, he met his friends early to help load the wagon with supplies and ensure they had everything they needed before entering the worst part of London. There would be no nipping to the shop for oranges and tea from Whitechapel. They would be lodging in a local church, sleeping on cots. It was difficult to imagine the refined and delicate Madame sleeping on a cot anywhere. Thor could only hope she would be uncomfortable enough to return to Belgravia after one night of roughing it.

His party was made up of hardy men, most of whom had some experience surviving in the darker parts of the world. Edmond Volstagg was a genial fellow and the only married man of Thor’s close acquaintances. He was a big man, in stature and girth, with a deceptive amount of strength. Next to him, the slightly built archer, Clinton Barton, was easily overlooked, but the man was an amazing hunter and excellent gent with whom to share a pint. The American journalist, Steven Rogers, was nearly as large and well-built as Thor himself. A former soldier, Captain Rogers was a good man who preferred sketching notable events to making them. His old friend, John Hogun, was as competent as he was quiet. All of those men had been with Thor in Africa at some point or other and had proved their mettle. What these hardened men would think of the ladies joining them, Thor could only guess.

Feeling anxious, Thor had sent his party on ahead of him while he made some excuse to check over the second wagon one more time. They had been irritated to be hurried on, but they did not put up much of a fight. Thor was relieved to be greeting the Madame alone. His friends were already making jokes at his expense regarding her.

Whether the Madame could handle the rustic living quarters or not, she showed up right on time and in the company of four other ladies. She disembarked the coach like a queen, her smile wide and unworried. Her companions looked far less pleased, he noted and had to wonder if they would survive the first day. The housekeeper who had threatened him began bossing around his servants as they unloaded the packages from the ladies’ coach.

Irritated, Thor stomped over to the woman and demanded, “What is all this? We aren’t going on holiday! Your Madame will not need a ball gown.”

With more sass than a servant should be capable of, the housekeeper told him, “Those aren’t the Madame’s things. She has brought clothes for the people, blankets, salted meat, hard cheese, dried fruit, and loaves of bread. There’s medicine too.”

“Oh…” Thor mumbled. Huffing, he said, “Alright, I’ll have them make room in the wagon. Are you joining us too, miss?” Thor asked dubiously.

Shaking her head, the housekeeper told him, “No, I’m for Ramsgate, just helping Madame on my way out.” As if summoned, Madame Melusine glided towards them.

Arching a brow, he frowned at the Madame and asked, “Are you sure you want to do this? You could go back with your friends.”

Giving him a tart look, she said, “Yes, let’s get on with it. Have a wonderful holiday, dear,” she told her housekeeper before dismissing her with a kiss on each cheek.

Unlike her fine friends, the Madame was dressed to work. Her glossy black hair was twisted into a prudent bun, her plain black dress and coat covered by a thick apron. She even had face masks tucked into her pockets. The Madame helped to load the wagon while the other ladies sat by. It was obviously not her first time doing something like this; her face was set and her posture determined. If she really had volunteered in places like Egypt, she would have witnessed crippling poverty and human suffering, but it still sat poorly with Thor that he was going to be complicit in the act.

While he could almost imagine the Madame rolling up her sleeves and working hard, Thor was certain the other three had never broken a sweat in their lives. The woman with the ginger curls, Croft, had a sour, pinched expression that told him she was here under duress. The other two looked squirrelly at best.

The ladies and their belongings took up all the space in the coach, meaning Thor would have to ride in the wagon. After taking a long look at the coach, the mystic turned on her heel and announced she would ride with him. With all the provisions, they were forced to cram together, thighs touching so that they could both ride inside the wagon. She was pressed close to him on the hard wooden seat. He could smell the sweet scent of her hair and feel the warmth of her body beside him.

As the little caravan drew nearer Whitechapel, the seer said, “Thank you for allowing me to join you. As difficult as this sort of thing can be, it does the soul good to lend one’s fellows a helping hand. I know you are not happy about it, but I assure you, I have been to worse places, and with less reputable company.”

“But your friends have not,” Thor rejoined, still a little frustrated.

“No, they haven’t, but it might just make them slightly better people,” she told him with a small smile.

Beyond the wagon, the buildings were growing smaller and less well cared for, the signs of privation growing more evident with each street they passed down. Factories dominated the skyline and choked out clouds of black smog to pollute the air. As hope waned, filth took its place, making for a very dismal and oppressive view for their ride. The Ripper was still the talk of the East End and the signs of his presence could still be seen. Penny dreadfuls and newspaper clippings were plastered to the crumbling brick facades, all talking about the mysterious killer of fallen women.

“If it makes you feel any better, I will be sure to stay by the soup line and content myself with passing out supplies and medicine. Don’t worry,” she promised solemnly. “I have no intention of wandering off into the Ripper’s territory. My gifts offer some forms of protection, but I am as vulnerable to a madman’s knife as the next girl.” 

Thor snorted, “And in your pretty clothes, you will stand out more than any girl in the East End.”

As they trundled along, he watched as she pulled off her fine gloves and primly folded her hands in her lap. Her skin was snow white compared to the tan of her apron and the stark black of her coat. The sight held his attention for longer than it should. He admired her beauty, her profile, her hair, hands, and neck whenever she turned to look the opposite way. If he had not seen it for himself, Thor would never have believed she was anything but a woman. He did not need to wonder why she chose to live as a woman, even though it meant less freedom, she was so elegant and lovely that the idea of her in a suit was ridiculous. Even her fairly deep voice and above average stature did little to take away from her feminine persona.

Overcome with curiosity, Thor asked, “where in France are you from?”

“I was born in the country,” she answered lightly. With an elegant shrug, she said, “My family sent me to boarding school for most of my childhood and after I was orphaned, I moved to Paris.”

“I imagine you were a good student and a holy terror in school,” Thor teased, imagining a little girl with wild dark hair and that pointed little chin. 

Throwing her head back, the Madame laughed brightly, “I was difficult and headstrong, I admit. My teachers either loved me or hated me. Something tells me you were the sort of boy who got his knuckles rapped for avoiding classes.”

“Guilty,” Thor admitted with a rueful chuckle. “I spent more time thinking of ways to avoid my lessons than I did attending them.”

“I loved learning, but hated being told what to do,” the Madame confided. 

She was witty and amusing, but Thor could now see a sadness in her eyes. She had said that she was a performer, the entertainment, not truly a part of her social group. It must be terribly lonely to always live on the outskirts while being the center of attention, he thought. Thor wanted to say something, to ask if she had no real friends, not even Miss Fowlhurst, but there was no tactful way to broach the subject. Aside from her physical differences, Thor could not understand why she was so isolated. There had to be more than just her body preventing her from forming real attachments. The Madame wore her secrets like perfume; always present but never defined. 

When they arrived at St. George-in-the-East Church, it was to find the yard full of the most unfortunate of London and the healthy volunteers in their crisp aprons and face masks. The Madame passed him a face mask before tying her own into place. The air was a miasma of unwashed bodies, rotting garbage, and soot. Looking down the rambling road, he could see doors marked with signs of quarantine. The other ladies were clambering out of their carriage, their noses wrinkled.

“The smell is terrible, but not as bad as the leper hospital in Cairo,” she commented bracingly.

His mouth was open to reply when he heard a loud, “Thor, we were starting to wonder if you had abandoned us.”

“Volstagg,” Thor greeted his friend and waved over their other friends. “These are the honorable ladies who have volunteered to help. The misses Victoria Fowlhurst, Gloria Croft, Edith Thomas, and, eh...” Thor suddenly could not say her name, his face growing hot.

Smiling warmly, the mystic stepped forward first and offered her hand as she said, “_Bon matin_! Forgive our interloping. I have been wanting to help with the relief effort but no one would escort me. When Lord Odinson told me he meant to come here at Saint James’ last week, I simply had to entreat him to allow me to join you all and he generously agreed. I’m Madame Loki Melusine,” she added as he shook Volstagg’s meaty hand. “I am so pleased to meet you all.”

Volstagg cast him a quick, wry look and Thor glowered over the Madame’s head. Their other friends were also giving him dubious looks. Yes, he had told them that several ladies would be joining the party, but Thor had not told them exactly who it would be. They had been making jokes since he stood up with her four times in a row. 

“Madame Melusine and these ladies are here to help,” Thor told his friends flatly.

Once he saw the ladies safely ensconced in the church hall, doling out soup to the hungry people who had been forced from their homes by influenza, Thor and the other men were put to work fetching and carrying supplies and building cots for those escaping sickness. As they worked, his friends kept trying to wheedle information from him about his relationship with the Madame. It was good he was flushed from effort or they would have seen him color with each joke.

Finally, Thor turned on his friends and said sternly, “Madame Melusine is a friend and nothing more. I-if even that! We just run in the same circles and know the same people,” he reasoned.

Influenza was hardly the worst thing ravaging the area. Aside from the ever present specter of poverty and desperation, there was the scourge of the great pox, which left more than a few of those unfortunates Thor and his friends saw horribly afflicted. Syphilis caused the skin to rot and the brain to wither; the late stages involved the nose rotting off and the sufferer to go mad. Those not ill were dirty, hungry, and uneducated. Chances of improving their situation were slim. It left Thor’s heart aching and his soul weary. 

Five long hours of hard labor later, Thor and the other men were sweaty, tired, hungry, and very ready for a break. Trudging into the church hall, they were given soup, bread, cheese, and ale by the women volunteering. While blankly eating his meal, Thor’s eyes followed the flow of activity around them and found Madame Melusine among the women. She was a flurry of motion, her skirts rustling briskly as she went from task to task. It was impressive that she still had so much energy after working for five hours at that pace. As soon as they had finished their food, the men were shooed back outside and back to work. He did not see the Madame again until the sun set and the day ended.

Thor and his friends escorted the ladies to the parsonage where the group would be staying while they volunteered. The priest’s wife had made them a simple supper of Shepard's pie and fresh milk which was one of the finest meals Thor had had in weeks. Thor had not been so worn out since he returned from Africa. The ladies had retreated to the kitchen to help clean up while the men moved to the adjoining barn to wash up and sleep. The barn was far below the sort of accommodations that the gentlemen were used to, but Whitechapel was poor and they would have to travel back to the good part of town to find proper lodgings. It was simply easier to rough it for a few days, not that Thor minded much.

For the ladies, the situation was a little more comfortable, as the parsonage had an attic large enough to sleep all of them. As they were all unmarried, it would have been seen as highly inappropriate for them to take lodgings anywhere else in Whitechapel. Despite their good fortune, the other ladies had not seemed very pleased with the situation. The Madame, as she had been all day, was in good spirits, though her pretty face was a little grey from fatigue.

A barrel of rainwater, a bar of soap, and some old cloths were all the priest could offer, but the men were all just glad to get the stink of illness off their sweaty skin. While they took turns washing, they talked little. They had witnessed such suffering and hardship that none of them could find much of which to converse. They did all agree that they would be glad to be quit of the place and very thankful for their good fortune.

As Thor busied himself rinsing out his shirt he heard the barn door creak open and saw the Madame in the doorway. She was loaded down with an armful of quilts and Thor supposed she had pushed the door open with her foot not thinking of what she might see. For a moment she stood frozen, her eyes wide and her face flushed, and Thor was momentarily baffled by her reaction. Then he realized he was standing in nothing but his under things in full view. He could not help preening a little under her stunned but admiring gaze.

“Oh, s-sorry,” she exclaimed, spinning to face away from him. Blushing like a girl, she held up her cargo, saying, “I brought extra blankets. Mrs. Whitman said it will rain tonight.”

Shooting a quick glare at his sniggering friends, all of whom were dressed, Thor said, “Thank you, Madame.”

He had nothing to be ashamed of; Thor knew that he was well built and handsome, so he did nothing to hide himself. The Madame was no shy virgin after all. Despite knowing what she was, he still found the mystic attractive and was pleased to see her responding to his body so strongly. If they had been alone, well, Thor was not at all sure what he would have done. She did look particularly sweet backlit by moonlight, her hair loose.

Practically glowing, she held out the stack of bedding and mumbled, “I hope these are enough.”

Not willing to miss such an opportunity, Thor strode forward and took the blankets from her, giving her a closer look. It was not the gentlemanly thing to do, but this was the woman who had cupped his manhood and chided him for sticking his cock where it did not belong. In a way, it was only fair she saw him in a state of undress after he had gotten such an intimate look at her.

“Might I help you with anything, Madame,” he asked, his voice low and just a little suggestive.

Scarlet-cheeked, she fled, stammering, “Keep warm, my lord.”

Smirking at her retreating back, he pulled to barn door closed and returned to his friends to pass out the extra bedding. They were all giving him looks, but Thor hardly cared. While he had known she found him attractive, it still stoked his ego enormously that the normally quick-witted Madame had been rendered speechless by his body. Somehow, having such an effect on her felt like a greater victory than with most women.

“Oh yes,” Volstagg drawled. “Whatever were we thinking? You and the Madame are clearly only the most casual of acquaintances.”

***

Warm all over, Loki retreated to the bathroom to wash up, still pink cheeked and breathing hard. He had never seen such a beautiful man and it left his knees a little week. Odinson was the best looking man in London, Loki had known that since first laying eyes on him, but to find him in possession of a truly magnificent body was enough to leave him a little shaken. DaVinci would have wept to have had such a subject. If his hands lingered on his own flesh a little longer than was necessary while washing, he could hardly be blamed.

As clean as he was going to be, he took to his little cot in the attic and tried to sleep. But try as he may, his mind would not settle. It was full of the lord’s perfect body and the knowing gleam in his sky blue eyes, and it made Loki’s heart race. Unbidden, he imagined sneaking out of the vicar’s house and stealing into the barn. Of course, in his imaginings, Odinson slept alone on his bed of hay, and would welcome Loki under the blankets. Biting his lip to stifle a moan, Loki fantasized about running his hands over the taut planes of his chest and tasting the sweat on his skin.

Loki shook his head gently. What was he thinking fantasizing about Odinson like that? The man had assaulted him, he reminded himself sternly. Although, since being freed of the ill-wishing, he had been a different person. The more they interacted the more sure Loki was that it had been the ill-wishing’s influence that had made him act so cruelly.

Quite sure the lord would not be so enthusiastic in his welcome, Loki tried to force the sinful images from his mind, before he really worked himself up. For all his appreciative glances and flirtatious talk, Odinson had been very clear on his feelings about Loki’s body. If Loki was the woman he seemed to be, he had no doubt he would find an eager bed partner in Odinson, but the problem of his cock was not likely to go away.

Sighing loudly, Loki rolled onto his side and closed his eyes. Tomorrow would be long and difficult and he needed his sleep, he reminded himself firmly. He was tired after such a hard day, but the image of Lord Odinson bare-chested remained behind his closed eyes.

“Loki,” Victoria whispered from the cot next to his. “Are you well? You aren’t feeling ill?”

Knowing exactly what worried his friend, Loki promised, “I feel fine, just tired after a long day. I am not getting sick.”

Victoria opened her mouth to answer, but her cousin Gloria said shrilly, “Well I wouldn’t be surprised if we all took ill.”

“These people need our help, Gloria,” Victoria chided, though her tone indicated she too was concerned about being exposed to the sickness.

“I didn’t think it would be this awful,” Edith Thomas admitted miserably.

Loki had not wanted to invite any of them, truth be told, but he could not have come by himself without risking ugly talk. Victoria meant well and she had a good heart, but she was soft and slightly spoiled and this was difficult, dangerous work. The other two ladies, Victoria’s cousin and future sister-in-law, had been added at her suggestion. Loki did not mind Edith. She was a little boring, but nice enough. Gloria Croft, however, he had disliked before and was coming to rather loathe her the longer they were in close contact.

“No one here is going to catch influenza,” Loki snapped. “We aren’t even working directly with the sick. Honestly, where is your sense of Christian charity?”

Gloria sniffed, “I donated handsomely to the relief effort.”

“Then tomorrow I will have one of the gentlemen escort you home,” Loki said decisively before rolling over to face away from the other women.

Frustrated, he huffed and forced himself to bite back his more scathing comments. He had had quite enough of Gloria Croft and would be happy to see the back of her. Loki would gladly toss the woman in the Thames, but she was Victoria’s cousin. Between seeing Odinson in his under things and Gloria’s selfishness, Loki was rather wound up. Closing his eyes, Loki breathed out slowly. Eventually, he did drift off, but not for long.

The barn was dark and chilly when he slipped inside. Under his coat, he wore only his camisole and petticoat and his stockings. He found Odinson sprawled on a thick pile of hay, wrapped in a warm quilt and sleeping peacefully. Dropping his coat on the floor, Loki joined him under the blankets and pressed his lips to his slack mouth. Thor came awake with a little sigh and a start, his eyes flying open. For the length of a heartbeat, they stared at each other. Then Loki leaned forward and kissed him again.

This time, Odinson returned his kiss, tongue quickly finding entrance into his mouth. Loki shuddered and pulled him closer, wrapping his arms around his neck. Loki made no protest when Odinson rolled him onto his back and pressed him into the hay with his weight. His mouth was on his neck, leaving hot, open mouthed kisses on his throat and collar bone. Raking his nails through the thatch of golden hair upon his chest, Loki took a moment to appreciate his lover’s powerfully built form. After another long kiss, Odinson pulled back just enough to regard his now flushed face.

Dipping back down to kiss along his jawline, the lord returned to the task of driving Loki wild. Loki’s slender hands slowly followed the curve of his massive biceps up to the broad plane of his shoulders. Grinning mischievously, Odinson tugged down the front of his camisole and cupped his little breasts so he could lavish them with his mouth. Those big, rough hands quickly found the hem of his petticoat and pushed it up over his pale thighs. Unlike the last time that man had bared him, Loki let his legs fall open eagerly.

There was no hesitation, no reaction of disgust when Odinson’s fingers trailed over his straining cock on their way to his quim. Loki moaned and arched his hips up, his own hands fumbling with the front of the other’s trousers. He was big, Loki knew that, but hard, Odinson was even more impressive. Panting, he gave the shaft a few teasing strokes before lining it up with his entrance. When Odinson pushed inside him, Loki cried out and dug his nails into his back hard enough to leave marks, but he did not ask him to stop or wait. Enthusiastically, Loki wrapped his long legs around Odinson’s hips and dug his heels into the small of his back.

It was rough and quick, the culmination of all the tension and flirtation building up between them, but it was so sweet he could have screamed. Odinson was almost too big, but it did not matter. It felt good, the thick cockhead grinding into just the right spot to make him see stars. When Loki came, he was staring blissfully up into those intense, blue eyes. Throwing his head back, he gave a little cry and tumbled over the edge. Seconds later, Odinson followed, biting down on Loki’s exposed neck as he did.

When Loki woke at dawn, he was alone in the little cot in the attic of the vicar’s house. The snoring and murmurs told him the other ladies were still asleep, which was good. He had made a mess of himself in his sleep, which was embarrassing, and ran to the washroom to clean himself before anyone noticed. The dream had been so vivid Loki was honestly surprised it had not been real. With shaking hands, he brushed out his hair and twisted it back into a serviceable bun. It was then he noticed the shadow of a bruise on his throat. The bruise was round and a soft red, about the size of a small biscuit. Looking closer, Loki noticed something inside the mark; the impression of teeth. It was a bite mark. Suddenly recalling how his dream had ended, Loki stared at his reflection in shock.

For a moment, Loki was seized by fear, wondering if he had been visited by the demon, but as he thought over the dream, Loki realized there was no sense of fear in it. At no point had the dream of Odinson asked for his soul or professed his love. It had been a dream of passion and sensuality and nothing more. If not for the mark on his neck, Loki would have dismissed it as a dream born of his lust for Odinson’s body. As such, there was only one other explanation. 

“We shared a dream,” he realized as his fingers probed the sensitive skin of his throat. 

Dream sharing was something a witch might do, but the other person had to be thinking about them as intently as the caster. Furthermore, both minds had to be receptive to the idea being shared unless the witch used more magic to force the images into the receiver’s mind. That was dangerous and difficult; not something he could have done in his sleep by accident. They had experienced the same dream from their own perspectives as if it had truly happened and the memories would be just as vibrant. How was he going to look Odinson in the eye now?

More than his embarrassment, Loki had to hide the morning rose blooming upon his neck. Gloria Croft’s sharp eyes would certainly spot it quickly and her unpleasant mind would spin it into something nasty. Fortunately, he had a dress with a high, lace collar that would obscure the mark. If he could simply get dressed without anyone noticing, Loki could put off the problem for several hours and hopefully by nightfall Miss Croft would be gone and the other two would be too tired to notice anything odd.

Loki managed to dig out his dress with the high collar before Miss Croft could be pried from bed, which provided a useful distraction for the other two. Once they were all up and dressed, the ladies ventured downstairs to find breakfast prepared and the vicar’s wife waiting for them. Victoria and Loki were quick to thank her and offer to help, but Gloria sulked and Edith looked nearly ready to cry. Loki was sure the girl would be catching a ride back to Chelsea with Miss Croft; she just did not have the strength of character to face such suffering. He did not judge Edith, as she had come with good intentions and not everyone had the mettle for such work.

As they were setting the table, the men joined them, still looking a little rumpled. Loki did his best to avoid Odinson, but somehow the man ended up sitting across the small table from him, much to Loki’s bemusement. The meal was bacon, eggs, and fired toast, simple but delicious and filling. There was tea, thankfully, as they would all need their energy. Despite his best attempts, Loki’s eyes kept wandering to the young lord’s face and each time it made his heart skip.

Strangely, it seemed Odinson was also suffering some embarrassment. He was avoiding Loki’s eye and looked a little flushed. Odd, considering how confidant he had been when Loki found him nearly naked the previous evening, that the man was now so bashful. Frowning, Loki tried to pretend he noticed nothing amiss and chatted with the vicar’s wife.

“I hear you have been called home, Miss Croft,” Mrs. Whitman asked politely, acting as if she did not know Gloria had thrown a fit to have a proper coach called as soon as may be.

Gloria, having the grace to look sheepish, replied, “Oh…yes. I am so sorry to leave.”

“I will be joining her,” Edith Thomas interjected quickly. “It would be unseemly for her to travel alone,” she reasoned, her pretty face pink.

“Of course,” Mrs. Whitman agreed gently.

Victoria began squirming nervously and Loki felt his heart sink; she was going to leave too, which would mean Loki would have to go. Sighing, he met her brown eyes and saw the fear and guilt there. There were other volunteers, but none staying with the vicar. Being left alone in Whitechapel would not look good. It would not matter that Loki was putting himself to the hazard for the sake of the poor and suffering, they would still question why the Madame would stay alone in a house with a married man of the cloth and several single men.

Once they had eaten, one of the gentleman named Barton hitched up the wagon and helped both Miss Croft and Miss Thomas up onto the bench seat. The ladies were more than happy to be putting Whitechapel behind them, though Edith did seem a little ashamed of herself. Loki did not blame her really; it was difficult and soul crushing to face the truth of human suffering. As soon as Mr. Barton drove the wagon around the first corner, the rest of their party walked to the main church hall.

More than tiredness weighed them down as they walked. Loki was sure Odinson remembered the dream they shared. The man was acting awkward and nervous, keeping at least two people between them as they walked. Rubbing at the mark on his neck self-consciously, Loki blushed and tried to act like a sane adult instead of a sulky little girl. Though he knew he ought to avoid the lord, part of him deflated at the obvious shunning.

When they reached the main hall, Captain Steven Rogers, the American reporter said, “We have enough supplies for today and Barton will come back with more this afternoon. You ladies should have enough to get through dinner.”

Loki nodded tightly as he pulled out his freshly washed facemask. Before he could head into the hall, Odinson stopped him with a brief touch to his forearm. Puzzled by his intense expression, Loki frowned and cocked his head to the side, waiting for him to speak

“Are you feeling well?” the lord inquired seriously.

“Yes, I’m quite well, thank you.”

Still confused, Loki turned to leave but caught the conversation that bloomed the moment his back was turned.

“Are _you_ feeling well, Odinson,” the captain asked, his tone implying he very much doubted it.

Lord Odinson huffed irritably and said, “I just want to get the work done so we can go home this evening.”

“I thought we were staying for at least two more days,” the big redheaded man intoned as Loki stepped into the hall and hid himself to continue eavesdropping. 

Victoria shot him a questioning look as she continued on to the makeshift kitchen, but Loki waved her on. He had thought the group would be staying for another few days and Odinson’s words were a surprise. Was he cutting the venture short because he was too embarrassed to be in Loki’s company? That was an unpleasant thought.

Pretending to be struggling with his apron, Loki listened as Odinson told his friends, “We are, but I want to get Miss Fowlhurst and the Madame out of Whitechapel. I am responsible for their safety and I do not like the feel of this crowd.”

“Madame Melusine seems rather set on staying,” Rodgers commented. “I don’t envy you the job of telling her she’s to be banished back to Belgravia.”

Loki smirked to hear the chorus of agreement that statement earned. Odinson would not be rid of him so easily. Loki had every right to be here and they needed the help. Still, Loki had to wonder if he or the lord was the more stubborn of the two. Honestly, it was a near thing.

“I don’t care how she complains,” Odinson responded dryly. “I will take her and her friend home today. They never should have come.”

“What will you do if she refuses,” the quiet man asked.

There was a bullish snort before Odinson replied, “Throw her over my shoulder and march her back to Chelsea if I must.”

Unable to hold his tongue a moment longer, Loki stormed back out into the little yard and faced Odinson with a dark glare, saying, “You, my lord, have no say over what I do. It is my business alone. I appreciate your concern, but I will not be bullied by you.”

“Bullied,” he echoed indignantly. “You and your friend have no business being here! You could come down with influenza or run afoul of unscrupulous men. This is Whitechapel – the bloody Ripper could find you.”

“It’s no business of yours where I go,” Loki argued sharply. “If Jack the Ripper wants me, he can damn well try it.”

Growling, Odinson decreed, “I am taking you and Miss Fowlhurst home this evening. I will not be gainsaid, madam.”

Loki was vibrating with rage and it was only years of practiced self-control that prevented him from making a scene. For a few heartbeats, he stood stock-still, his fists clenched in his skirts, his eyes fixed on the lord’s. The other men shifted and muttered awkwardly to each other in an undertone about female emotions and etiquette. His face was bloodlessly white and his eyes burned as he fought to master the indignation coursing through him like liquor.

Through clenched teeth, Loki hissed, “I am not a child to be sent away at your command. You do not own me, my lord. Leave if you will, but I shall stay,” Loki snapped, turning on his heel and marching back into the church hall.

It was a relief to throw himself back into the work of the soup line. When his heart again beat at a normal rate Loki could think clearly enough to come up with an explanation for Odinson’s behavior. The man recalled the dream they shared and was so desperate to be away from Loki that he was willing to make an ass of himself. Twisting himself into knots, Loki had to assume the lord was disgusted by the dream, by the idea of having sex with Loki. Flirting with him while he was swathed in silk and lace was one thing, but in the dream, Odinson had been confronted by the strangeness of Loki’s body. No doubt it had reminded him of the revulsion he had felt upon first seeing Loki naked. Odinson might not have reacted to Loki’s body in the dream, but in the waking world, he must have felt differently. Blinking back tears of shame, Loki brought himself up short and forced his mind to shun thoughts of Odinson.

It should not have cut him so deeply that a man should be repelled by him, it was hardly the first time, but Odinson’s rejection still hurt. When he had asked Odinson for his opinion on his appearance, he had called Loki beautiful and happily stood up with him four times in a night. How dare that glorified barbarian turn his nose up at him? Though he tried to push his hurt into anger, the hollow, miserable feeling remained. He might not wish to admit it, but Loki had felt something for the man. Heart heavy, Loki continued his work and did his best not to think about how good it felt to be held firmly against Lord Odinson’s chest.

The time ticked past slowly, but eventually midday crept closer. Loki’s spirits still remained low, but he had tried hard to busy his mind with work. There was a commotion outside on the street, largely ignored at first. Whitechapel was busy and loud, after all. Before anyone could think more of it, three men burst into the church hall. His first thought was that some calamity had occurred, a fire or another Ripper attack, but then he saw they brandished knives and another possibility occurred to him. This was one of the poorest parts of London and he was by no means the only person of wealth donating his time here. Gods, they were being robbed! 

“Alright ladies,” yelled one of the men, his voice muffled by the scarf wrapped around his lower face. “Give us yer valuables an’ we’ll be on our way. No need for anyone to get ‘urt,” he announced, his cockney accent heavy.

The three men spread out, positioning themselves between the doors and the several women who had been stationed in the soup line. While the hall was full, it was mostly women and children waiting for food and other supplies. There were a few men among the crowd, but none of them seemed inclined to face the armed burglars. _No heroes here_, Loki realized. In his old life in Montmartre, he had always carried at least two knives and eventually a lady’s mother of pearl handled revolver, but now he only kept a small knife in his garter.

His hand inched down towards his thigh, thinking he might be able to ruck the back of his skirt up enough to grab the knife. In most hands, it was not a lethal weapon, but Loki knew where to stick it to make it lethal. He could kill the robber, but Loki was not sure he was in enough danger to risk exposing himself or ending a man’s life. If Loki just injured him, he and his cohorts would punish him and possibly the other women. There were three robbers and only one of him.

The robbers prowled back and forth, eyeing the women before one of them came forward and yanked a gold cross from around an older lady’s neck. He took her wedding band and the silver brooch on her breast as well. Loki had no jewelry aside from the talisman he always wore beneath his clothes and when it was his turn to be robbed his assailant was disappointed.

“No earrings, no necklace,” he complained. “Dontcha have anything fine on ya, lady?”

Loki shook his head and pressed himself more firmly into the wall behind him as the man’s gloved hands checked for any valuables he might have hidden on his person. It was invasive and Loki tried to struggle, but the brute put a hand around his neck to still him. Unarmed and unable to fight without putting the others at risk, Loki could do nothing but submit. Under the thin collar of his dress, the beaded necklace of his talisman could be easily felt.

“Been keepin’ secrets,” the bandit crowed. Without hesitation, he took hold of the delicate lace of Loki’s collar and tore, opening the dress to his clavicle. Pulling out the talisman from under his clothes, the thief eyed the gold charm at the end. The amulet was a small circle formed by a snake twisting around its own tail on a string of tiny obsidian beads.

As the robber stared at the gold charm, Loki watched his eyes change. They had been an unremarkable hazel, but in moments they were swallowed up by a sickly, inhuman yellow. Terrified, Loki grabbed at his protective charm, trying to free it. He could smell ash and sulfur. The thief leaned in close and, like an animal, sniffed at Loki’s exposed neck.

“Pretty lady,” the robber purred, the voice totally unlike the one he had used only moments before. Cockney accent gone, he whispered, “You shouldn’t be out in places like this, lady. You should be home, cherished and protected.” His gloved hand pressed firmly against Loki’s middle, forcing his back into the brick wall. “You should be with the Master; giving him children…Mother of Monsters…Lady of Darkness…” His tone turned sing-song and haunting. “Queen of Corpses…” He sang in his ear as he pulled down his mask.

Biting back a terrified sob, Loki tried to get away, but the creature possessing the man was holding him firmly by the throat. The amulet stretched between Loki’s white-knuckled fist and the marauder’s, neither side willing to release it. The charm protected Loki’s third eye and without it, the monster might wriggle its way inside his mind. Staring into those unnatural yellow eyes, Loki clung to his courage to withstand the creature’s assault.

Distantly, he knew the other men were busy robbing and looting, totally unaware of what had befallen their comrade. It was as if he and the creature were separated by glass. If he called for help, Loki was not at all sure anyone would hear him. The rough hand on his throat tightened slightly, but not enough to bruise or strangle.

“The Master is waiting for you, lady,” the robber sang quietly. “He’ll reward me if I bring you to him. He wants his Dark Lady.”

“He can keep waiting,” Loki spat, daring to swing at the possessed man’s face.

Anger flashed behind his eyes, but before the creature could respond, the side door banged against the stone wall, revealing Lord Odinson and his friends. Everything happened so quickly that Loki could not recall much of what happened after. There was yelling and screaming, the loud sound of bodies hitting the floor and furniture breaking. One moment, the creature was pinning him to the wall, the next, he staggered back clutching at his chest.

Blood! There was blood bubbling from the man’s mouth and the yellow was melting from his now human eyes. As he staggered back, he pulled at the amulet still around Loki’s neck, dragging him forward. Gasping, Loki tried to claw the man’s fingers from his charm, but his death grip could not be broken. Then another hand appeared, prying the man’s fingers loose. Shocked and confused, Loki turned to find Lord Odinson with his hand on the robber’s wrist and the other on his collar. There was blood on his hand and face, Loki noticed.

“I…Oh…” Loki mumbled, grasping his amulet tight to his chest.

Time seemed to shift back into normal reality then and Loki watched as his would-be assailant crumpled to the floor at their feet. There was a knife protruding from his back surrounded by a rapidly growing crimson stain. Breathing hard, Loki felt his eyes burning with tears. Gaping up at Odinson, Loki realized the lord had committed murder to protect him. Shivering and in shock, Loki blinked hard and tried to make his sluggish mind function but it was like wading through a quagmire.

With his heart pounding in his ears and his eyes blinded by grief, Loki was unsure of what he was seeing. Was the body before him in a brown coat or a white? The air was black with smoke, stinging his eyes and choking his lungs. Under the smoke was a sickeningly familiar scent; alcohol, bleach, and ozone. It was the scent of the asylum. There was blood on his hands and the fire was consuming the building as he watched. He did not fear the flames, but the damage they would cause. The asylum kept the wards locked in and he knew few would escape. Steel-hard hands grabbed his shoulders and Loki thrashed as the blackness drew in on him. He screamed and collapsed.


	6. Nine of Swords (art)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nine of Swords Meaning
> 
> Upright: anxiety, hopelessness, trauma, Reversed: hope, reaching out, despair

height="1845" />


	7. The Knight of Cups

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Romance is in the air...or is that just the demon? 
> 
> BTW Melusine is the mythical founder the royal houses of Anjou (in modern France) and Plantagenet (of England). Loki took the name as a little joke about his supposed mermaid heritage. Here's the link to the wiki. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Melusine

There was blood on his hands, but Thor did not hesitate to catch the seer as she wobbled on her sensible shoes. She thrashed and wept, her face twisted with horror. Though he could see his reflection in her eyes, he saw no hint of recognition. The Madame was not with them in the church hall. Thor knew that haunted, faraway look; he had seen it on the faces of soldiers and slaves escaping the Congo.

“Madame, you must breathe,” Thor urged gently.

Quick footsteps echoed behind him and her friend appeared at his elbow, gasping, “Oh Loki! My poor friend! Are you well?”

Swiftly moving to block the woman from getting too close to the shocked mystic, Thor warmed her, “Have a care, Miss Fowlhurst, the Madame is having an episode of some sort.”

“I have some laudanum in my bag,” one of the older women offered as she took a hesitant step forward.

“Yes, someone fetch some tea,” Miss Fowlhurst urged, waving at one of the other volunteers.

While the women made tea and clucked, Thor held the Madame up as she shook and jumped at every little sound. She mumbled about fire and smoke, her elegant hands clawing at his coat, her eyes wide. By the time her friend brought a laced cup of tea to the Madame, Thor could see that she was regaining her senses. He helped her to the bench and sat beside her. When they were settled, the Madame curled into his side. It was not appropriate to touch her, but Thor could not deny her this basic comfort when she was so frightened. 

“Here, Loki, dear heart, drink some tea,” Miss Fowlhurst cooed, offering the shivering mystic a chipped cup of steaming Darjeeling. “That’s right, just sip your tea,” she said gently, though her tone struck Thor as a little patronizing.

When the Madame regarded the cup blankly, Thor rubbed her back and urged, “Drink, Loki. You will feel better. Then I will take you home.”

Nodding like a child, she took the cup and carefully drank while Miss Fowlhurst petted her dark head gently. While his attention was focused on Madame Melusine, his friends swept up the rest of the bandits and called the police. Before she drank more than a few sips, Thor made sure she had only been given a small dose of laudanum, not wanting her to be completely insensible. 

“The constable would like to speak with you, Thor,” Rogers told him gravely. “Are you alright? Taking a man’s life is never easy.”

Rogers had seen combat and spoke from experience, Thor knew. Nodding jerkily, Thor said, “Yes, I will be fine. Can you see about sending the ladies home?”

“I’ve already sent for carriages.” Rogers looked over his shoulder towards the ladies and said in an undertone, “I’ll keep an eye on the Madame. You go talk to the authorities.”

Thor did not like leaving Loki when she was so shaken, but he knew the authorities would not wait. With blood on his shirt and a calm expression on his face, Thor went to speak with the constable. Though he was wearing the evidence of his possible crime for all to see, he refused to act ashamed or guilty. 

“Lord Odinson,” the constable greeted him politely. Holding up a notepad, he said, “I need your story, I’m afraid.”

It took very little time to convince the police that he had acted to protect a helpless woman, the Madame’s traumatized appearance helping a great deal. Everyone had seen the man threaten her with a knife and the other volunteers attested the men had come to rob the wealthy. It was, perhaps, a slightly more violent response than was necessary, but all the police agreed that Thor had done what was needed and no recourse was taken. He paused long enough to have his friend bandage his hand, which he had apparently cut while struggling to get hold of the knife.

Free to return to the Madame, he asked her, “Are you alright? I am certainly taking you home, now. I won’t hear a word against it.”

“Y-yes…I want to go home,” she agreed meekly. She tugged at her ripped collar and set aside her still half-full cup of tea.

Pulling off his coat, he draped it around her shoulders and gave her a reassuring squeeze on her arm. Thor helped her stand and escorted her to the yard. The other men were quick to find safe rides home for the other women, but Thor had no interest in anything but getting the Madame back to her house in Belgravia. Seeing her so broken and terrified, and how meekly she had agreed with him, he was deeply disturbed. She seemed completely cowed.

Hailing a cab, he asked, “Should I take you home or is there somewhere you would feel safer?”

“I need my tools,” Loki told him. For what, Thor wasn’t sure. “I must go home.”

Thor carefully loaded her into the carriage and clambered in after. He tried to sit on the opposite seat, but she grabbed his sleeve and turned her pleading eyes on him. Unable to deny her, he sat beside the Madame, glad no one could see them. Even more troubling, she had curled into his side and buried her face in his chest. Sobbing weakly, she shuddered and wept helplessly. Thor held her close, feeling equal parts uncomfortable and heartsick. Fishing out his handkerchief, he gave it to her to dry her eyes.

“How are you feeling?” Thor asked in an undertone when her sobs quieted.

“Better now…” She dabbed her eyes with the handkerchief. “Thank you for saving me. You were very brave.”

Arm still around her shoulders, Thor said, “It was nothing, Madame. You will have someone to look after you at home?”

Groaning, she admitted, “No, I gave Darcy the weekend off. She will be in Ramsgate until tomorrow. Oh no.”

Her house was not too large, but it would be daunting to spend a night alone for a woman who had just been assaulted. Thor knew she kept a small household; just the housekeeper and a cook, he had been told. A sick feeling churned in his gut at the thought of the Madame sitting alone in the dark, waiting for her housekeeper to return. And she had also been given laudanum, which might leave her disoriented. That was dangerous, was it not?

Still sitting close, Thor’s mind returned to the dream from last night. The scent of her perfume in his nose made his heart thunder. He could recall every little detail; the sweetness of her skin, the glossiness of her hair, and the taste of her sweat. Shifting awkwardly, he tried to banish the memory of how good it had felt to sink his cock inside her. He could still hear the lovely, breathy little noises she gave as he made love to her.

“Will you be alright until your housekeeper returns?” Thor asked, feeling as though he already knew the answer.

Biting her lip, the Madame frowned and wrung her hands, saying, “I… I don’t know.” She looked around nervously, though they were alone, as if checking for someone listening in. “I do hate to seem like a helpless maiden, but this was terribly upsetting.”

“It was a very traumatizing situation,” he reasoned. “You acquitted yourself well.”

The town outside the window slowly changed from rundown and poverty-stricken to more respectable. Thor could relax a little as they moved away from Whitechapel. It was a pit and no place for a lady like the Madame. More than anything, he was kicking himself for agreeing to allow her to join him on the relief effort at all. While she was motivated by good intentions, the Madame should have stayed in the polite circles of society. Seeing how terrified and stunned the mystic was, Thor could only blame himself. 

“I don’t want to be alone,” she whispered, her eyes wide and frightened. “Would you please stay the night? I know it is improper, but I don’t know how I shall make it through the night if I am left alone.”

Flabbergasted, Thor could only stare at her and mouth silent words of surprise for a few moments. Her face was so white she looked like a spirit with lips almost devoid of color. The pupils were so small they were pinpricks of black in the circle of her green irises. 

“Madame, there is no way I could stay the night with you,” Thor told her awkwardly. By her looks alone, he nearly did not turn her down. “I cannot host you at my home without causing gossip, and if I stay with you, alone, in a house without a single chaperone, we would both be shamed.”

“Please,” she whispered, her eyes welling with tears. “I just want to go home, but I cannot be alone when I am so vulnerable.”

Thinking of how she had so boldly cupped his manhood the night of their altercation, he wondered if this was some kind of ploy to seduce him. But then, her pretty face was so terrified Thor quickly dismissed it. Even if she only wanted companionship through a difficult night, people would surely talk if it got out that he had spent the night with her. The Madame’s reputation would be ruined and he would be seen as the kind of villain who preyed on helpless, traumatized women. 

Squirming away from her, Thor said, “That would be highly inappropriate, Madame. Think of the talk it would cause.”

“I don’t care,” she insisted, on the verge of tears, her hands tight on Thor’s. “You do not understand. I am being hunted. If I am left alone, I fear what might happen.”

Sighing hard, Thor tried to think of some way to avoid the awkward situation while leaving the Madame alone with her nightmares. Maybe she was a little mad after the shock and the laudanum. What, or whom, would _hunt_ a French widow? It was nonsense. Then again, she was a witch who dabbled in things he could only imagine. Whether she was a little unstable or actually afflicted by some unearthly force, she could not be left alone.

Thor sighed as he ruminated on the predicament. There would be plenty of room for him to sleep safely away from the Madame, he reasoned. He was still uncomfortable with being so close to her after his dream last night. Knowing what was beneath her skirts, Thor was not sure how he felt about it all. On the one hand, she was beautiful and she did have the requisite parts, then again, she also had some other parts he was less comfortable with.

“You really want me to stay the night?” he asked incredulously. When she nodded desperately, he inquired, “Are you not afraid of me…after how I behaved?”

She regarded him seriously; her eyes suddenly clear and sharp, and asked, “Would you do such a thing again?”

“No, I cannot account for my actions that night and I am – deeply – disturbed by it,” he admitted with more than a little chagrin.

Giving his hand a squeeze, she told him, “I am willing to trust you, my lord. What I am facing is much worse than anything you could do to me.” Taking a deep breath, she went on, “I will weather whatever scandal comes of your staying the night. Please, I cannot be alone.”

The carriage came to a halt outside the Melusine Belgravia home, which was dark and obviously uninhabited. She stared out the window at her own house as if it were a mausoleum. It was clear she was utterly terrified at the prospect of being left alone. This was Thor’s fault; he should never have allowed her to come. Whitechapel was no place for a lady. There was no way he could just leave her to her own devices. If some misfortune befell the Madame, Thor would never forgive himself.

Wiping her eyes, she begged, “Please, stay. I know you do not believe in the supernatural but it is very real and very dangerous. I do not want to be alone.”

There was nothing more for it, so Thor said, “Very well, Madame. But be warned, I will not be fetching your tea,” he joked, his serious expression cracking into a smirk.

She giggled and hiccuped, her smile watery as she said, “Thank you. I can fetch my own tea.”

Having made up his mind to risk staying the night with the Madame, Thor quickly exited the coach and helped her down after him. She had only the one bag, hastily packed by Miss Fowlhurst, and he easily transported both lady and luggage to the front door. As he waited for her to locate the key, Thor did his best to ignore the sense of unease being on that doorstep brought him. The last time he had been here, he had acted abhorrently, assaulted and nearly ravished a woman. It did not really matter that Madame Melusine was perhaps not a lady in the strictest sense, she was certainly smaller and weaker than Thor and he had treated her with uncharacteristic aggression. 

When she unlocked the door, he quickly deposited her bag on the tiled floor of the foyer and stepped back outside, saying, “I do not want to endanger your reputation more than I already have.” Seeing her face pale, he hurried on, “I will have the carriage take me around the block and I will double back on foot.”

“There is a door in the back wall of the garden,” She told him, her voice quavering. “I’ll unlock it for you.” She gripped the door tightly in her hands as she stood behind it. “Y-you will not change your mind?”

Taking her cold hand in his, Thor impulsively brought it to his lips, swearing, “I will return shortly. Before sunset at the latest, you have my word.” She nodded, her eyes over-bright and Thor found himself reluctant to release her hand. “I will only be gone long enough to allay suspicion. I’ve no doubt your neighbors keep a keen eye on your door,” he joked.

Bidding her a formal farewell, he returned to the coach and told the driver to take him to a bakery he knew that was on the edge of Chelsea. It was not the nearest establishment, but the short distance would give those peering through lace curtains time to get bored before he returned. After all, it was not just her reputation he had to consider. While seducing a widow might be reprehensible in the eyes of some, sharing a bed with a – hermaphrodite – could ruin him.

At the bakery, he dismissed the cab and paid the man well to forget him and the Madame. The baker sold him two meat pies and a small cake. Under the circumstances, Thor doubted there was much food in the house and he knew neither of them had eaten much that morning, so chose the two fattest, most succulent looking pies. The cake was a frivolous thing, dainty and dusted in sugar with a candied strawberry in the middle.

Seeing this, the baker asked, “You off to woo a lady, young master?”

For a moment, Thor was taken aback at her familiar tone, before he realized he was in nothing more than an old coat and trousers he hadn’t worn since Africa. He did not look like a man of means and with his broad build and height, it would be easy to mistake him for a labourer without his fine clothes to advertise his nobility.

“Ah, I might be, ma’am,” Thor responded when he recovered himself.

The baker, a woman of middling age, grinned cheekily up at him and said, “She must be a pretty thing to have you buying such a nice spread.”

Suddenly very hot in the face, Thor admitted, “She is very pretty…And I should not keep her waiting,” he added on a stroke of brilliance. Laughing, the baker shooed him from her shop with a flick of her apron.

With a little effort, he found a place that sold decent wine. At least it was good enough to offer to a refined Frenchwoman. Newly acquired basket in hand, Thor set off for the house in Belgravia. It was a bit of a walk, but it was safer if he did not hire another cab. A single man walking with a small burden would be less likely to draw attention than a coach.

As the sun began to set, he reached the backside of the Melusine house, and found the peeling green door in the garden wall. Fortunately, the back wall abutted a narrow alley obscured by high walls and overgrown trees. Casting a nervous glance around, he knocked at the door, and waited. If she failed to let him in, Thor was going to feel very ridiculous.

“Odinson?” came a hesitant voice just before the door creaked open.

“Yes, let me in.”

***

In the time Odinson was gone, Loki had quickly washed up and changed into a green tunic and silk trousers—an oriental fashion that was far more comfortable than his traditional English clothes, while still being appropriate for company. Over that, he donned his second best velvet robe and Chinese slippers. Despite his anxiety, Loki wanted to look good when the handsome lord returned. He had his pride, after all. Changing his appearance for the better helped Loki feel a bit more stable, but a tremor remained in his cold hands. Armoured in velvet and silk, and his glossy hair loose down his back, Loki set his jaw and hid his shaking hands in the pockets of his robes.

He missed the warmth of the other man’s body and he needed the tactile reassurance of another person after what happened. Had the robber simply taken his talisman, Loki would have been upset, but not like this. Whatever dark thing had been lurking inside the thief had called him Mother of Monsters. The creature that had touched Loki’s mind before was still hunting him. There had been no sign of it since he cleansed himself and he had believed it gone, but now he knew better. It was only waiting in the shadows, as it had since his time in France.

Staring blankly out the window into his back garden, Loki wondered if there was any way to rid himself of his dark suitor. He twisted at a loose curl around his fingers as he reflected on his past. If he thought back, he could remember a time before the voice began whispering in his ear, but he had been very young. It had been before he was old enough to understand that he was different from his brothers. By the time his family locked him in the asylum, the voice was his only friend. If Loki had known the truth, he would have blocked it out, but now it had its claws in his soul.

Mother of Monsters, Lady of Darkness, Queen of Corpses, these were the titles it wished to bestow upon him. When it came to him wearing Odinson’s face it had spoken of children that could chase down the sun and swallow the moon. Was that the sort of fruit his womb could grow; hellspawn and nightmares? Loki was not perfect, he had his sins, but he was not evil. Why would a demon want him?

Without thinking, his hand went to the mark on his neck. Perhaps he always had it in him, the power to corrupt. Did he not inspire lust and scandal wherever he went? He had lost count of the number of married men who had propositioned him. And just now, Odinson had stabbed a man to death without hesitation and Loki had to wonder if that was his fault too. His body, strange and unholy, was proof that he was made by something other than the Christian God.

The garden was still warm and bright, which helped to stave off the black clouds of smoke and ash that prowled around the corners of his mind. It had been years since he had allowed himself to visit the memories from his life before Paris. The asylum haunted him like a ghost, wailing like the damned and shifting shape between a dozen different half burned faces. Was the scent of smoke from the neighbor's chimney or his imagination? Standing in the sunlight, Loki forced himself to be in the moment, miles and years away from that misery, and once again in his garden. 

By the time the sun began to set, Loki was pacing by the lily pond trying to appear as if he was not waiting for a clandestine visitor even as his heart thrummed like a hummingbird in his chest. When a knock came, Loki jumped as if shocked and hurried to the back door. The moment he heard Lord Odinson’s deep voice, he nervously opened the door and allowed him in. He had never expected to be so relieved to see Odinson, but Loki could have thrown himself at the other man’s chest.

Glancing at the basket on Odinson’s arm, the lord said, “I brought pies and wine. Do you prefer lamb or beef?” He followed with an awkward smile as Loki escorted him into the kitchen.

“Thank you,” Loki said sincerely, taking the pie Odinson seemed least interested in and set it on the table. “I know you must think me mad, but I appreciate your company all the same.”

Shaking his head, Odinson answered, “No, not mad. You are frightened and it’s no wonder.”

While the pies cooled, Loki took the kettle off the stove and poured them both cups of chamomile and lavender tea. He uncorked the wine and poured that as well, determined to be a good host, even though his nerves were frayed like a basket of yarn left unattended in a room with a kitten. While the tea steeped, Loki fetched plates and forks and served up dinner.

Staring dispassionately at his food, Loki added, “I already sent my housekeeper a telegram in Ramsgate. With any luck she will be home by tomorrow night.” Poking listlessly at his dinner, Loki tried to make himself eat despite the stone in his belly. “I would not wish to impose on your good will longer than necessary,” Loki mumbled, his eyes downcast.

From the look and smell of it, the pies and wine were very good, but Loki tasted nothing but ash and bile. The act of moving his fork from plate to mouth was made difficult by the slight shaking of his hands. He needed to eat, even if the idea of food did make him feel sick, it would fortify him more. Though he could not taste it, the slow burn of the wine did help. 

“After my behavior the other night, I owe you,” Odinson rejoined sheepishly. 

With a small smile, Loki told him, “My lord, do not be too hard on yourself…The ill-wishing caused you to act out of character. You have shown your true colors since.”

“You are looking a little better,” Odinson commented as he refilled Loki’s wine. “There’s a little color in your cheeks again.”

Managing a real smile, Loki joked, “I am French, wine will always improve my health.” Though it was said in jest, there was some truth in it. Loki’s hands had stopped shaking and he was a bit more settled in his own skin.

After they ate, Loki quickly cleaned up, leaving the dishes to soak overnight and putting the leftovers in the icebox. He moved the kettle and cups to the drawing room and fetched down every blanket, cushion and pillow he could find. When Odinson gave him an odd look, Loki shrugged and loaded him down with soft things and pointed him towards the drawing room with a wave of his graceful hand. 

“Am I staying in the drawing room?” he asked, bemused, clearly wondering why he was not being given a proper bedroom. Rather than answer, Loki took his armload of pillows and marched into the drawing room himself, to which Odinson asked, “Are we staying in here – together?”

“I would rather not take chances,” Loki told him when he finished warding the room.

Brows raised, Odinson asked awkwardly, “Take chances?”

“With the,” Loki swallowed hard. “With the demon.”

Odinson frowned and looked as if he wanted to say more, but Loki waved him off. He did not have the energy to explain everything. There was no time, with the demon hunting him. It had possessed one person already, it could do so again. Exhausted, his magic low, Loki was more vulnerable to an attack. The demon could use that to its advantage. 

Once he had ensured they had everything they would want, he shut the pocket doors and sealed them with a twist of cord with dozens of protective charms. He placed a line of salt at each window and at the door. Kneeling before the fire, he pricked his finger with a small paring knife and drew a snake on the hearth in his blood. The scarlet serpent was twisted into a circle, its tail curled around its head. He hung more charms and drew warding runes on the walls in chalk. Throughout this process, his guest remained quiet, sitting on one of the two large divans with his glass of wine.

“Please do not disturb the salt if you must cross it,” Loki instructed.

“What will happen if I do cross it?” Odinson asked wryly. 

Pointing at the salt, Loki explained, “Salt acts as a barrier. As long as the line remains intact, it functions like a castle wall. It protects me. If you must cross it, step lightly and do not disturb the salt,” he explained clearly. 

“Very well,” Odinson agreed. Pouring a large glass of wine, Odinson offered it to him with a gentle, “Drink, try to relax. You look dead on your feet.”

Loki regarded his reflection in the curio cabinet glass. The spectre he saw was pale as death with dark rings under his haunted eyes. Ghostly and intangible, she watched him with the perfectly unreadable expression he had practiced for so long. She was beautiful, but wan. Blinking slowly, Loki shook his head to clear the mist from his mind. He exhaled, forcing the stress out of his body, which had been wound as tight as a new pocket watch. 

Loki turned his eyes from the sight, slowly sitting on a pile of cushions by the fire. He adjusted his robes and stared into the flames for a long moment over the lip of his wine glass. He knew the lord must think he was completely deranged, but he was not about to risk becoming the Mother of Monsters. Hugging his knees to his chest, Loki gathered his thoughts.

“My grandmother taught me to use my gift when I was a child,” he told the fire quietly before taking a slow sip. “I was much younger than my siblings and my parents left me in her care. She told me a story about where our gift came from,” he smiled wistfully.

Odinson joined him in the nest he had made by the fire, bringing the bottle of claret with him when he draped a quilt around Loki’s shoulders. He sat a little distance away from Loki, but not much. Part of him wanted to be back in those strong arms, where he would feel warm and safe again. 

Shaking off that thought, he returned to his story. “My grandmother told me this story when I was a child,” Loki told his guest as he stared into the heart of the fire. “We would go out to the shore and she would tell me about a mermaid and a sailor who fell in love. She was taken by a carnival and the sailor rescued her. She chose to become human and spend her life with him. Very romantic,” he sighed dreamily.

With a warm chuckle, he went on, “According to Grandmother that was her mother and father. She said that was why we had magic and why I was born like this,” Loki laughed ruefully and shook his head. With a graceful shrug, he commented, “Of course, grandmother was a little touched, but she was a wonderful storyteller. And to be fair, I do look a great deal like my great grandmother’s portrait.”

Over his glass, Odinson remarked, “Your grandmother had a vivid imagination. Perhaps she found the story in a book?”

“Perhaps,” Loki said pensively. “I hope I never find out because I love that story and it would take the magic out of it.”

“You have plenty of magic on your own,” Odinson said with a smile.

Rolling his eyes playfully, Loki asked teasingly, “Would you like to see some real magic, my lord?” When Odinson seemed a little skeptical, Loki said, “Hold your disbelief for a moment and watch this.”

Getting to his feet, Loki fetched a scrying bowl and a pitcher of water and returned to the fire where Odinson still sat. Placing the bowl between them, he filled it halfway and set the pitcher aside. With great care, Loki lifted Thor’s right hand and slowly unwound the bandage. As was often the case with knives, Odinson had cut himself when he defended Loki against the bandit. It was a shallow wound and would heal in only a few weeks, but Loki had other ideas.

With Odinson’s hand palm up in his left hand, Loki gracefully moved his other over the water in the bowl and sang a sweet, undulating note. The lights in the room seemed to brighten a little as he sang and the water rippled as if disturbed. With a quick twist of his pale hand, he made a stream of water rise like a snake and curl around Odinson’s hand. In a few moments, Loki allowed the water to drop into the bowl, leaving the lord’s hand dry and undamaged.

“Do you believe me now, my lord?”

After a long, shocked pause, Odinson touched his now unblemished palm and breathed, “I have seen remarkable things in my travels, but nothing like this.” There was fear in his eyes when he turned them on Loki again. “Loki,” Odinson said making his heart thunder as he took his hands. “You must never show anyone what you can really do. People destroy what they don’t understand. You would not be the first extraordinary woman to be killed for witchcraft.” 

“I know the danger I face, my lord,” Loki told him solemnly.

Still holding his hands, Odinson insisted, “Promise me that you will never show anyone this kind of magic. Spiritualism is one thing, but real magic?” he shook his head, squeezing Loki’s hand urgently, holding his gaze with unblinking sincerity.

Touched by his concern, Loki said, “Do not fear for me, my lord. I know better than to show my gift to just anyone.” Squeezing his hands reassuringly, he went on, “But I wanted you to see what I am and what I can do. I am not the kind of wicked witch you thought at first.”

“Perhaps,” he allowed. “And might we dispense with titles and formalities in private?”

Loki laughed and nodded, saying, “Yes, after saving my life, I think you can call me by my given name...Thor,” he tried the name and smiled.

“Loki is an unusual name, but it suits you,” Thor told him with a sheepish smile. “It sounds like a name for a beautiful mermaid,” he teased lightly.

Sniggering, Loki said, “It is a strange name, but it was my great grandmother's name, so perhaps it is the name of a mermaid. I should name my daughters fanciful things like Cerci, Nereides, or perhaps Nehalennia, for something more dramatic,” he laughed. 

Chuckling, Thor suggested, “What about Calypso?” 

“No, not that,” Loki sniggered and playfully hit his arm. “I am a witch! I might as well name them Hecate or Morgan La Fey!”

Thor sobered, his smile fading as he asked a final time, “You will not show anyone your gift? This is dangerous, Loki. I do not want to see you burned at the stake.

“They hang witches these days,” Loki told him, detached, matter of fact.

When Thor continued to frown, Loki went on with a shrug, “I know very well what my gift could cost me. They have already cost me much. It’s not the noose that awaits me if I am found out, it’s the asylum; and that is far worse. Doctors cannot understand it, so they call it madness. First, they try to exorcise it with ice baths and straightjackets. Then they try electroshock. And if that does not work…they try to cut the madness out of you and they call it healing.”

Shuddering, he took a long swallow of wine and stared off into the fire. He had not meant to share so much of himself with Thor, but he was vulnerable and inclined to trust him, perhaps more than he should. One person could only hold so many secrets before they began to slip out, though. In a strange way, it felt good.

“Sometimes, it isn’t just your brain they think they need to cut…They think if they cut enough parts of you off, the ones they don’t like, they can make you normal…”

To his surprise, Thor gently cupped the back of Loki’s neck and told him seriously, “Know that I would never allow that to happen to you, Loki.”

Loki could only stare up at him with questioning eyes, his voice stolen away. What did he mean by making such a promise? The Odinson fortune was vast and the name cast a long shadow, but could he protect Loki if he was discovered? Thor’s hand was large, easily engulfing his whole neck and the back of his head, and comfortingly warm. Loki was genuinely disappointed when Thor withdrew it, catching the collar of his robe in the process.

Feeling color rush into his cheeks, Loki turned away to fill his wine glass. When he dared to glance up again, Thor’s stunning blue eyes were focused on his neck. Confused, he reached up and touched the curve of his neck, feeling a slight sting as he pushed on the bruise. Oh, the love bite; he had honestly forgotten.

“May I ask…” Thor hesitated. “How did you get that mark on your neck?”

Rubbing at his throat self-consciously, Loki said, “Ah…that.” He avoided Thor’s gaze. “Before I answer, you must understand that not all magic is consciously cast. Just like your leg might twitch or you sneeze without warning, sometimes magic just acts on its own. No one seems to know why.”

Taking a long gulp of wine to fortify himself, Loki answered, “To be frank, you bit me. You…you must recall a dream you had last night.” Scarlet from his chest to his hairline, he coughed, “Well, you weren’t the only one having it. I suspect I left some mark on you as well.”

Unable to meet Thor’s eyes, he focused on the fire and prayed he would not die of mortification. There was no way to prove to Thor that he had not cast some spell in hopes of entrapping him. Remembering how furious the man had become when he believed Loki had put a hex on him, Loki paled. He had to make Thor understand.

Clutching at Thor’s arm, Loki tried to explain, his words rushed, “I swear on my grandmother’s soul I did not do anything to make that happen. Wandering dreams are supposed to act as guides, to show people the way in a time of need. I have no idea why we—why it was that sort of dream. I was as surprised as you. Please, believe me,” he begged, eyes wide and frightened. “The only magic I have used on you was to break that ill-wishing and to heal your hand. That dream was not my doing.”

“I believe you,” Thor said quietly, patting Loki’s shoulder. The moment hung between them like a clock’s pendulum as they tried to read each other’s thoughts in their eyes. “We’ve had a long day,” Thor finally broke the silence. “I’ll sleep on the divan over there. You can stay by the fire.”

Nodding dully, Loki felt his heart sink into his toes. The truth was, no matter how gently Thor treated him, he would never forget that Loki was not a woman. Nothing would happen between them, no matter what the butterflies in his belly might say. In the dream, he had been as he really was and Thor had made love to him eagerly. Of course, he would never touch Loki like that in real life. Thor was an earl, he needed a proper lady with a sterling reputation, not the scandalous Madame Melusine. In awkward silence, he watched as Thor made up a bed on the divan, his back to Loki.

“Do you think your housekeeper will return in the morning?” Thor asked. “I will stay with you until she returns if you wish.”

Hugging his knees, he told him, “It is three hours from Ramsgate, I expect Darcy home by mid afternoon. If you would stay until lunch, I would greatly appreciate it.” 

Seeing the evening was ending, Loki followed suit and piled some pillows and blankets on the other divan. He made himself comfortable under his favorite quilt and snuggled down. With any luck, he would sleep through the night without issue. Closing his eyes, Loki tried to relax.

“Loki,” Thor’s voice was low and a little rough with sleep. “I do believe you…I want you to know that and I think of you as a friend.”

Smiling into the pillow, Loki murmured, “I am glad…I have few enough friends. Thor…I would never use my gift to harm or deceive you, I swear it.”

“I know, Loki.”

He was warmed by Thor’s words more than the fire, pleased to be trusted and counted as a friend by him. Despite that, Loki could feel the cold little stone of disappointment in his belly. A small, pathetic part of him had hoped Thor would see the dream they shared as permission to make another, less aggressive advance on him. Loki wanted to be kissed and held, longed for Thor to reach across the short distance between them and draw him near. Of course, he knew that would never happen. Thor might find him pleasant to look upon, his blue eyes certainly looked their fill, but he would never touch Loki with desire.

After the day he had had and the wine, he was tired, but he feared what his dreams might bring. As tightly as he guarded the drawing room, Loki was not certain it would be enough to stave off the beast that hunted him. There was also the danger of another filthy dream shared with Thor. That would make the morning intolerably awkward. Making himself comfortable on the divan, Loki rested his head on the cool pillow and closed his eyes.

*

He was in a beautiful garden, grown wild from the tamed lines it had once been forced into, a place abandoned by man. It was a good place, where nature had prevailed in all her wildness, and man’s meddling had been overthrown. Aimlessly, he wandered through the overgrown pathways enjoying the cool, sunny day and the fruit off the trees and bushes of the garden. After a little while, he noticed that the further he went on, the less healthy the vegetation looked until he reach a place where everything was dead and rotted. Blight hung in the air and could be seen in the withered remains of the plants.

“You cannot hide from me, my little viper,” the deep, resonant voice purred. “Everywhere you go the darkness follows. It is in your nature to bring chaos.”

Turning around sharply, Loki ground out, “No! I-It isn’t true.”

“You know it is,” the voice mocked.

Terrified, Loki spun around, but saw nothing. Suddenly, there was no exit in sight. What once had been a wild, but peaceful garden was quickly transforming into a dark and twisted nightmare. Flowers were choked out by poisonous vines only for those to soon turn blited and wither. The hedges rose high, blocking out the sun and leaving him trapped on all sides. Thorns and brambles grew up, cutting his hands when he tried to push though the impediment. The more he struggled, the more he bled and the smaller the space around him became.

“Why fight fate, sweet one? Surrender to me and be free…of the pain…of the longing… Give me your soul.” As the voice went on, Loki was swallowed by the dark hedge. 

Gritting his teeth, Loki hissed, “Not today.” With all his might, Loki grabbed onto the brambles hard enough for the sharp points to bite into his flesh.

He woke screaming and threw himself from the divan. Falling to his knees, Loki stared around the dim room with wild eyes, expecting the shadows to attack him. Pain lanced up his arms and in the firelight he could see the reason. Upon his hands and arms there were long, bloody scratches. Cross his palms were small puncture wounds like those from thorns. Horrified, Loki stared uncomprehendingly at his bloody hands. He was bleeding. The dream had physically harmed him.

***

A frantic scream jerked Thor from the light doze he had slipped into. By the time a loud thump resounded around the drawing room, he was on his feet and blearily looking for an intruder. Loki was sprawled on the floor as if she had been thrown and it was from her the ungodly wail had emanated. In the low light, he could only make out her shape, but did not hesitate to throw himself to his knees beside her, fearing she was ill or injured. When he gripped her shoulders, she thrashed and shrieked in fear. She turned large, uncomprehending eyes on him and he knew Loki did not recognize him at first.

“Loki, Loki it’s alright,” he intoned soothingly. “You’ve had a nightmare. It’s alright.” She continued to struggle and cry, so Thor held her close, pinning her to his chest so that she could not harm herself. “Loki, wake up! It was only a dream.”

“Laissez-moi seule š'il vous plaît! Ah dieux,” she sobbed into Thor’s chest.

Amid her sobs and babbling he made out one word, “Non…non…non.” 

“Everything is alright,” he intoned. As she calmed, Loki slumped in his arms until Thor was cradling her and cooing as if to an overwrought child, “I’ve got you.”

When she reached up to wipe at her tearstained face, he saw thin slashes of crimson crisscrossing her pale arms from the tips of her fingers to past her elbows. It looked as if she had fought an angry cat. Gently holding her trembling hand, Thor examined the shallow cuts and found them superficial, but alarming. The wounds on her palms and fingers were deeper, trickling scarlet down her wrists. From their direction and size, he knew at a glance that she had not done this to herself in her sleep or as a hoax.

“What happened to your hands?” Thor asked, his voice tight with concern.

“I told you,” Loki sobbed, her accent heavier in her panic. “I am being hunted. The demon haunts me, even in my dreams I am not safe.” Holding up her bleeding hands, she pleaded, “See what it does to me? That robber, the one you killed, it was possessing him. It spoke to me of what its master wanted with me. It will never stop hunting me until it has what it wants.”

Grabbing at his shirt, Loki buried her face in his chest and sobbed helplessly. She felt so small and fragile in his arms; the urge to shield and protect her overwhelmed him. His mother had often called him her gallant knight and it was not untrue; he did have a deep desire to defend those who needed it. Deep down, his mother might have been right in teasing him about wanting a fair maiden to rescue. Loki Melusine definitely needed protecting. Holding the seer tightly, Thor tried to soothe her, rocking back and forth slowly and petting her soft hair. After a long while, she began to quiet and he relaxed a little.

Finally regaining her control, it seemed, Loki sat up slightly, but she did not try to pull away from him and Thor did not release her. Taking in a shuddering breath, Loki wiped at her face with her knuckles until Thor tugged his sleeve down over his hand to dry her eyes for her. Long hair sticking to her teary face, she ineffectually tried to right her clothes and hair. It was almost endearing how she sniffled and smoothed her mussed hair down.

“Do you believe me now,” she asked with tired desperation. “Do you believe there is something supernatural after me?”

Her fear was palpable, like smoke or heat, and he had no trouble admitting, “I do.” There was no logical explanation for the thing he had seen, Thor knew that. “What does it want from you? Is there nothing to be done?”

“I don’t know,” she told him from her position still held tight to his chest.

It felt almost shockingly normal to hold her like that. She fit against him just right. Even with a face made red and puffy by crying, she was still gorgeous, maybe the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. But she was not a woman, he reminded himself. Though, if he were to be honest in his own heart, it was becoming harder and harder to remember that fact.

“If there is anything I can do to help,” Thor said at length. “Name it. I heard of men in Africa who were possessed by dark spirits. I could contact some of my traveling companions still on the continent,” he offered.

From the little he had seen while in Africa, possessions were violent, physical events that required hands on action. He had once seen a man ostensibly possessed by an evil spirit held down and exorcized by a shaman. It had been frightening and brutal. The afflicted man shrieked and fought like no human should and the fire in the eyes of the believers had been disturbing. After a long night, the man was declared free and he breathed his last breath.

Woefully, she told him, “It does not want to possess my body. I...I think...It wants my soul. It wants me to bear its vile offspring. I do not know why.”

Her words certainly raised questions that he wanted the answers to, but now was not the time. Could she have children? Or was this a supernatural sort of offspring? If she could, why would a demon chose this strange seer over a normal woman? Though, perhaps her oddness would be appealing to such a creature. Could Loki bare human children? Shaking his head, Thor put those questions aside to focus on the present situation. 

Part of him knew he ought to move away from her, but Thor stayed where he was, keeping Loki in his arms. She seemed calmed by the embrace and he did not want to disturb her. Sighing like she had not slept in years, Loki rested her cheek against his chest and for a moment he thought she might have fallen asleep.

“What can I do?” he asked, unsure if she was still awake.

“Don’t let me go,” Loki whispered. “It strikes when I am alone or vulnerable. When I channel or sleep, it comes. It speaks to me during my waking hours.” Swallowing hard, Loki whispered, “I thought it was my guardian angel when I was young. It helped me survive…escape…when I was in danger, but now I see it was manipulating me…”

Giving her a gentle pat, Thor told her, “Give me a moment to fetch something for you hands.”

The basin Loki had used to heal his wounded hand was still sitting on the sideboard, so Thor collected that and a rag to clean her bleeding hands. Though they were shallow, the cuts bled and quickly stained the cloth and the water in the basin. After a pained inhale, she was quiet and bore the hurt in admirable silence. When he finished wiping the blood away, he was relieved to see the cuts no longer oozed blood. Pulling out a handkerchief, Thor tore it in half and began wrapping her hands with the clean fabric. Wanting to make her smile, he tied each bandage off with a bow on the back of her hands. 

“I think you will live,” Thor said with a touch of humor. When she flashed him a watery smile, he told her, “I don’t expect you shall have any scars on those pretty hands. Now, you should rest. I’ll watch over you.”

Nodding, she curled close to him as he tugged the quilt up over her shoulders. With the arm not wrapped around her, Thor pulled down the pillows and other blankets to make them both comfortable. Yawning, Loki went willingly as he moved them to lay down side by side on the floor by the fire. She was warm and he could feel the tension slowly ebb from her.

“Rest, Loki,” he urged, his lips near her ear. “If your dreams turn upsetting, I’ll wake you.”

In the dim light of the drawing room, it became clear to Thor that he needed to protect the woman in his arms. It did not matter that she was not a woman in the traditional sense, she was alone in the world and clearly in danger, and he wanted to help her. 

When was the last time he really cared for someone else? Thor was unsure, but now that it had happened, it did not seem he could go back. It was illegal and immoral to have sex with a man, which was what he had been told his whole life. Though, Thor was not at all certain how he really felt about that. It did not feel sinful or wrong to hold Loki close in the dark of the night. She was so fragile and breakable in his arms and she had been so terrified. The need to protect her was strong and Thor was not sure why he should fight it when he looked into her still face.

“I cannot remember the last time someone held me,” she murmured as she tucked her head under his chin. “Longer since I enjoyed it.”

“Rest,” Thor admonished gently.

In truth, though he frequently shared a bed with women, Thor mostly slept alone. Fucking someone did not feel as intimate as sleeping with them, holding them in the night. It felt good though, having a woman in his embrace. Now that he thought about it, Thor could not recall the last time he had held someone like this. For a long while he remained awake, watching closely to be sure her dreams were sweet, but eventually he drifted off as well.

*

The waves crashed on the white cliffs in the distance as he looked out to the dark water and breathed in the scent of brine. The peachy sand was warm under his bare feet and the wind was brisk and clean. Only a short distance off the coast, Thor could see a small island with an old lighthouse jutting into the air from its rocky outcroppings. It was an old building of rough sandstone, but something about it seemed homey and welcoming. The little house attached was whitewashed with friendly blue shutters and a slightly sagging roof. He would have liked to explore the mysterious building, but he could find no way to reach the island other than to swim as there was no boat in sight.

His eyes were drawn to the foreground by a splash in the waves near him as a dark head broke the surface.

The creature that appeared was beautiful, with pale skin, and hair as black as midnight. _Loki_. It was Loki. But strangely, she seemed different. Her flesh gleamed and glittered in the sunlight as if she were coated in a dusting of starlight. The way she moved in the water was not how a human should; she almost slithered. She was nude from the waist up, her pretty little breasts covered by only her long, dark tresses. Smiling, she beckoned to him with a slender hand. It almost seemed there was a sort of webbing between her fingers, but before Thor could think on it more, she called his name.

Thor walked into the water without hesitation and met Loki halfway. The waves washed around their hips when they met. Loki’s arms looped around his neck as she beamed up at him, her expression guileless and open. Thor pulled her close, his hands sliding down her back to grip her hips. She was striking and mystical and kissing her was like breathing. Loki tasted of sea salt and sweetness. As their kiss became bolder, a large wave crashed into them, knocking Thor off his feet, sending them both splashing into the water.

The world spun like a kaleidoscope and Thor felt his head spin with it. The sea swirled around him, but Thor felt no fear. The ocean was safe and he trusted that Loki would save him if anything did go wrong. It was a little like when his father used to toss him onto his bed as a child; his stomach made the same excited flip.

After a moment, he resurfaced to find himself on his back in the sand, looking up at the blue sky overhead. A lovely, ethereal sound at his side made him look around. Loki was sitting in the sand nearby, her long hair slung over a graceful shoulder as she lazily plaited it. She was singing, or something like singing, it was melodic and undulating, but sounded like no language any human spoke. Stranger still was the seamless transition of milky pale skin to glittering emerald and sapphire scales. She had a long, coiling tail like a snake or a fish. A mermaid. She was magnificent, unlike anything he had ever seen, and Thor’s breath was utterly stolen.

When she saw he was awake, Loki smiled as though nothing could please her more. She slid across the sand and draped herself over his chest to kiss him again. It should have been strange to feel her naked, inhuman body against his own, but it was not. The human part of her body was soft and warm and the scaled part was smooth and strangely pleasing to the touch. She squirmed between his legs playfully and Thor rather liked it.

He rolled them over to press her into the yielding sand and kiss her breathless. She came to him willingly, her mermaid tail coiling around his legs. It should have been strange and disconcerting, but it felt as natural as lying in the arms of the one he loved ought to. And he did love her; Thor knew that with total certainty in the way you know things in dreams. When she spoke his name, it was like she sang it, her tongue rolling the r.

“Myyyy ThooOOorrr,” she sang as he kissed her neck. “MiiIIinnneee.”

Smiling at her strange pronunciation, he agreed, “Yes, my love. I’m yours.”

His rough hands glided over the glimmering skin of her torso and Thor could not help but think it was an act of worship. In his arms was a beautiful creature of myth and Thor knew how fortunate he was to be given such liberty. Loki’s lips scorched kisses onto the side of his neck as her hands tangled in his hair. Her long tail curled around his legs to keep him close.

*

When he woke it was to find a much more human Loki in his arms. Feeling a bit silly, he lifted the quilt and double checked that she did not, in fact, have a tail. In the dream, loving a mermaid had been perfectly reasonable, but now that he was awake, Thor felt he would prefer his lovers be devoid of scales and gills. Although, Loki had made an alluring mermaid and he could see the appeal of the old stories. As he recalled the details of the mermaid’s body something occurred to him and Thor had to laugh, feeling Loki jump in his arms.

“What’s so funny?” she grumbled, displeased at being woken.

“Your name, I just realized.”

Through her curtain of dark hair, she glared at him, grumpy from sleep and clearly thinking he was making fun of her. “What of it?” Loki asked.

Brushing her hair from her face, Thor said, “Melusine, I just remembered where I had heard it before. You chose that name, didn’t you?”

“What are you implying?” she asked, her eyes suddenly much clearer.

“Only that Melusine was the mermaid sorceress who supposedly founded the Houses of Anjou and Plantagenet. It’s a good name,” he told her with a smile. “It suits you.” When she remained wary, he swore, “Your secrets are safe with me, Loki.”

She nodded and rubbed at her sleepy face, before asking, “What made you remember your obscure history so early in the morning?”

Recalling the more intimate aspects of the dream, Thor colored before telling her, “I had a dream.” Clearing his throat, he said, “In it, you were a mermaid. You spoke oddly, like singing, the vowels all elongated as if you spoke some language humans could not learn.”

***

Smiling wistfully up at Thor from his pillow, Loki told him, “My grandmother told me that mermaids don’t talk like us, but sing, sort of like whales and dolphins do. It makes sense, if you think about it.”

“It did sound rather like whale song,” Thor said thoughtfully.

Loki stretched luxuriously before sitting up and running his fingers through his tousled hair.

“Food, I think,” he yawned and stood up, straightening his robes as best he could.

He broke the wards on the door and hopped over the salt line so he could disappear into the water closet to freshen up. He ran his fingers through his tousled hair and splashed some water on his face before checking his reflection. He stood there a moment, letting out a small groan. He had looked better, he knew, but he did not look half as bad as he ought to, all things considered. Loki rinsed his mouth, pinching his cheeks to add some color, and straightened his clothes. 

When he was presentable enough to be seen, Loki emerged from the water closet and let Thor take his turn freshening up.

“The kitchen is just down the hall,” Loki told him. “I’ll start breakfast.”

The groceries had been left on the back step and Loki found eggs, milk, fresh bread, and strawberry preserves among the other supplies in the crate. Humming to himself, he began scrambling eggs and toasting slices of bread. A proper breakfast was needed after the night they had been through.

After a brief stop of his own in the water closet, Thor joined him in the kitchen and took a seat at the table. With a quick glance, Loki knew they were both thinking about the dream, and that it had been rather more than that besides. It was painfully awkward to meet the subject of your dirty dreams in the real world when you weren’t already engaged with each other.

Seeing Thor’s mild look of surprise at the apron he wore, Loki chuckled as he poured water into the kettle, “Yes, I can actually cook fairly well. Shocking, I know.”

“I never said you couldn’t,” Thor chortled.

With his back to Thor, Loki let his smile falter. He had had the same dream of the beach as Thor and knew that sharing a second dream was something important. Every time they met in their dreams, their thoughts would become a little more blurred at the edges until it became difficult to sort out where one stopped and the other began. People did not often wander into each other’s dreams, let alone twice in as many nights. 

There were stories of people who intentionally spent every night together in their dreams; some simply became intimate in a way not otherwise possible, but others pushed it too far and damaged their minds. If a dominant person forced their way into the mind of a weak willed person, they could manipulate them, but such acts always took a toll on the mind. Fortunately, he and Thor were not in much danger as neither of them was intentionally searching the other out. Still, one’s dreams were private and often embarrassing. Who would want an acquaintance to bear witness to their recurring dream of attending some social function naked or forgetting some important event? 

Rather than tell Thor any of that, Loki felt it safer to wait and watch. Considering how vulnerable he had been last night, it was possible he might never share another dream with Thor. That would be preferable to falling asleep every night wondering if his bizarre dreams would be Thor’s entertainment.

Plating their breakfast with a flourish, he plastered on a smile and passed Thor his eggs and toast, saying, “Thank you, my lord, for staying last night. I do not know how I would have fared without you. I hope that one day I can repay your kindness.”

“You’re welcome,” he said over his mug of tea. “I was glad I could be of help. Really, Loki, you owe me nothing. It was the least I could do.”

Loki’s smile was tender and genuine when he turned it on Thor, his eyes warm. It was difficult to reconcile his memories of the man who had assaulted him and the man quietly sharing his breakfast table. The only explanation, still, was the ill-wishing; he could only guess Thor had carried it for ages and it must have curdled in his soul. Free of it, Thor Odinson was kind and gentle and caring. And, judging by the way his eyes darted away from Loki’s, he currently had a question he was trying not to ask.

Arching a brow, Loki prompted, “What is on your mind?”

“Did you,” Thor began, but hesitated as though choosing his words carefully. “Did _you_ dream last night? Of the ocean and...other things?”

Considering Thor seriously, Loki weighed his answer carefully, before saying, “Yes, I did dream of the sea. I often do...” 

He knew well enough what Thor was driving at, but was not certain it was wise to give him the answer he sought. Thor had made it clear his attraction to Loki only went so far and learning that such sustained contact of their minds might draw them closer would likely not sit well. While Loki now trusted Thor and did not believe he would harm him in any way, Loki was not willing to risk their fragile bond. Perhaps he could test Thor’s resolve.

“Was that all you dreamed of?” Loki asked over the rim of his teacup. “Just the sea? Or was there more? Were you looking out to the water?” he asked innocently. “Such a dream can mean changes in your future. Calm waters and clear skies for good, rough seas and storms for bad. Of course, the feeling of the dream is very important. A storm that feels exciting can still mean good things to come.”

Loki waited patiently for Thor to finish eating, obviously putting off the answer. Tilting his head to the side, Loki gave him an encouraging smile. Would he admit to it, he wanted to know? Holding back a nervous giggle, Loki held a straight face.

“I was looking out at the sea,” Thor admitted slowly. “There was a lighthouse on an island that I wanted to visit, but couldn’t. Then I saw you in the water, or a mermaid that looked like you. I went into the water to join you and a huge wave crashed on us. When I woke, the mermaid was sitting beside me on the beach, brushing her hair.”

“Was that all?” Loki prompted.

He thought for a moment, then said, “It felt like I knew the place. I felt like …. I'm not sure. It was all very familiar, like I’d been there before.”

Nodding, Loki asked, “How did the dream feel?”

“Normal, as if sitting on a beach beside a mermaid was something I did all the time. And I was happy,” Thor told him, his eyes distant as he recalled the dream. “So at peace and contented,” he remembered wistfully. Chuckling, Thor apologized, “I did not mean to prattle on. Surely it was only because of our conversation and the wine.”

“So it was a good dream, at least,” Loki said with a shy smile. “And I do not mind your prattle, as you say, there is something very pleasing about sitting at the kitchen table and talking over tea. It is not often I get to enjoy such small comforts,” he admitted. “I have many acquaintances, but none I could be so free with, besides my housekeeper, Darcy. But there are things I cannot tell even her.”

For a few minutes they ate in companionable peace, just enjoying the freedom to be in each other’s company. It was homey to sit in the kitchen instead of the parlor, like common people. Sipping at his second cup of tea, Loki watched Thor under his lashes. He was beautiful like that, all the pretense and proper manners set aside for a while, like his waistcoat and cravat. It was a sight Loki would be happy to see frequently.

“Tell me about Africa,” Loki asked brightly. “I have spent time in Algeria and Egypt, but I have not gone further. I have always been curious about the wider world. What sort of wonders have you seen on your journeys? Where did you travel?”

Sitting back in his chair, Thor answered, “I have been to Egypt, but not Algeria. I spent the first year hunting in South Africa, Zulu territory. After that I just travelled wherever word said I might find something new and challenging. I’ve been through the grasslands and the jungles and the deserts. I hunted lions, leopards, giraffes, elephants, even crocodiles. Their jewellery is beautiful. I have a few pieces I collected.”

“I have a few pieces from Algeria and Egypt,” Loki put in. “Maybe at the next party I will model some of it for you.”

Loki listened with rapt attention, his chin propped on his upturned palm. It was a good story and Thor was good at telling it. A good adventure tale was always worth hearing and Loki had an insatiable desire for knowledge. Thor had a deep, resonating voice that sounded like the rumble of thunder and Loki could listen to it for hours. Loki poured him another cup of tea and urged him to go on. After some time, Thor’s story turned to his deceased friend.

“He was my dearest friend,” Thor said quietly, his eye distant. “It was my idea to travel to the Congo River basin. We had no idea that things were so bad there. The fight happened so fast I couldn’t react and then it was too late,” his voice trailed off. Looking at Loki seriously, he asked, “The day of the séance, was that really him? Did he say anything that you didn’t reveal that day?” he urged anxiously.

“Your friend holds no ill will towards you,” Loki told him, reaching forward to take Thor’s hand gently. “He said no more than he spoke through me, but I could feel his heart. He was not upset with you for what happened. It was not your fault.” Smiling comfortingly, he went on, “You should free yourself of that guilt and know your friend is at peace.”

Resting his face in his hands, Thor gave out a sigh like a death rattle. Without thinking, Loki reached over the small space and gripped Thor’s hand. The burden of his friend’s death was terrible and Loki could see it weighing him down. A few moments passed before Thor looked up and smiled tiredly, giving Loki’s hand a grateful squeeze.

He searched Loki’s eyes for a long time before daring to ask, “Do you believe…” Thor paused again before venturing, “In the dead coming back? I don’t mean anything like ghosts,” he laughed nervously. “Like, another life, reincarnation, I mean.” Casting his gaze to the side self-consciously, he continued, “It sounds so ridiculous to say it out loud. You needn’t reply.”

Tapping his fingers against the table thoughtfully, Loki went on, “I think some souls do come back. Not all, but the ones that have something to draw them back. Love, I think, is the greatest tether, though hate is powerful too.” Shrugging, he inquired, “Why do you ask? I did not take you for the spiritual sort.”

Before he could answer, the doorbell rang. The morning post brought a telegram from Darcy saying she would be back in London by late afternoon. Relieved, Loki returned to the kitchen to tell Thor the good news, but he hesitated. Thor might wish to leave now that the sun was up and Darcy set to return and Loki did not want that. It felt good to have Thor at his kitchen table and in his home.

Shaking his head, Thor answered, “I wouldn’t call myself spiritual, not in that way, but I have heard things in my travels. Some peoples believe that the soul leaves the body after death and then goes on to choose another life to come back into.”

The laugh that bubbled out of him was bright and warm, “That makes it sound like ghosts going shopping for new bodies.” He poured them both another cup of tea and fetched some raspberry scones as he asked, “Do you think they have wanted adverts in the spirit newspapers? Are there second-hand shops, do you think?” Loki joked, beaming at Thor’s laugh.

He munched on a scone and watched Thor thinking it over. In the lazy morning sunlight, Thor’s hair was glowing gold; his eyes shone. There was no man half so handsome, Loki was certain. As unlikely as it was, when they sat together like this, Loki could almost imagine something more between them. Waking up in those strong arms had been surprisingly comfortable.

“I should get dressed,” Loki said at length. “If you would excuse me, I’ll be back shortly.”

At his ease, Thor smiled and said, “Please, do not hurry yourself for me. Once you are dressed, I was wondering if perhaps you would accompany me on a stroll this afternoon, as your maid is not to return until late. I'd like to return home to change these tattered clothes and get new supplies ready to take back with me, but I wouldn't mind staying in your company for the remainder of the morning.”

Loki smiled, reading the man’s aura. They both knew that people would talk if they saw them together. He saw stubbornness hardening in Thor’s blue eyes and Loki knew the lord would not let the gossips stop him. Thor had made up his mind on this and Loki found it pleased him. For a moment, Loki thought about it, doing his best to be rational and careful.

“Where do you suggest we go?” Loki enquired as he hovered in the doorway.

“I have a collection of artifacts from Africa in my study and a number of beautiful maps that I think you would like,” Thor offered considerately. “Jewelry, carvings, textiles, and some beautiful books,” he offered. “We could have lunch in the garden. I recently purchased a lovely Irish Setter pup who would certainly love to meet you,” Thor told him with a boyish grin.

Unable to resist that smile, Loki said, “You had my interest before you resorted to bribing me with a puppy. Give me a few minutes to dress and then we can go.”

His heart fluttered like a silly school girl. Thor wanted to spend the day with him! Of course he had no objections to visiting the handsome lord’s study. After the night he had spent in fear and darkness, a morning spent in the sunshine sounded lovely. 

He chose a lace blouse of black and white; the collar was high, but the lace was nearly sheer down to his sternum. It was provocative and modest all at once. His skirt was a black brocade of sensible length and his most comfortable shoes. Twisting his curls up into a flattering loose bun, he tucked a mother of pearl comb into his dark locks. He chose a small, but reasonable straw hat with a black ribbon and a little bunch of gardenias. Packing a few things into a small reticule, he tried not to rush back down the stairs.

Thor greeted him, “You look lovely, as ever, Madame,” he smiled. “I’ve found us a cab.”

Breaking into a huge smile, Loki said, “Thank you. How convenient. I confess; I am curious to see your home. How we adorn our homes can say so much about us. Have you decorated it with lions’ pelts and Cape buffalo heads?” he asked playfully. “Or are you still living out of suitcases like the bachelor you are?”

Despite the terrible night and the danger of the demon, Loki was in good spirits. The day was bright and fair and a handsome man wished to spend the morning with him. He would have to deal with his troubles soon enough, but for the morning, Loki would enjoy this sense of normalcy and peace. For a few hours, he could let himself be a pretty young woman on the arm of a gentleman with whom she was much enamoured.

***

“Is this a family home or one you have let since returning?” Loki asked.

“It is a family home, but not one I spent much time in as a child,” Thor said. “Though, I admit there are a few pelts and heads on the walls.”

Thor helped Loki into the cab and settled on the bench across from her. In her lacy blouse and flowery hat, she looked a little softer and Thor found he liked the way the sun played across her face as she looked out the window. With the windows open, anyone who cared to look could see them together, but it was no matter to Thor. He enjoyed spending time with Loki and he was not going to be pressured into avoiding her.

The house was set back from the street. A small garden with large trees blocked the view into the home. It was a tall, stately brick building with green ivy creeping up the walls. His mother had had white and yellow roses planted under the windows that still bloomed. In the early years of his parents’ marriage, they had lived in that house and his mother had decorated it in the simple, Georgian style she liked best. While it was dated, Thor had little desire to change it. He did not like the overly cluttered modern style anyway.

Loki leaned forward to see the house better, her smile bright as she sighed, “Oh, its lovely.”

“My mother did much to renovate the home when she first married my father.”

The cab trundled to a stop at the wrought iron gate and Thor offered Loki his hand to help her down. There were people on the street, but Thor led Loki up to the porch with his head held high. As they reached the door, it was opened by his butler, Mr. Long, who bowed them into the foyer and took their outer things.

“Good morning, my lord,” Mr. Long greeted them, his eyes lingering on Loki.

He liked Long. The butler had served his family for years, and his work was exemplary. That being said, there was something about the way Long looked at Loki that Thor found slightly disrespectful. It was not Long’s place or his business to judge her or anyone his master associated with. Irritation flared in his chest.

“I will be having lunch with Madame Melusine,” Thor told the butler sharply. “We will be in the study until then. Please have the meal set out in the garden.”

Long bowed and dutifully left to do as he was told. Thor watched the man for a moment with a deep frown etched on his face. Remembering himself, he shook his head and guided Loki to the study. He would speak with Long once Loki was safely away.

The foyer was wide and decorated in deep blue wallpaper with polished parkay floors that Loki looked impressed by the stylishness of, even if it was a little outdated. There was a painted French side table in the hall with a Venetian glass vase full of peonies. As Thor walked her down the corridor she paused to admire the beautiful landscape paintings on the wall. 

“There is a woman’s touch in this house,” she commented wryly.

“My mother’s,” Thor told her. “I have not roused myself to think of updating the design, but I cannot really entertain with the house as it is.”

Tilting her head to the side, Loki offered, “I can put you in touch with some very talented people in Paris.”

“I may take you up on that later,” Thor said with a smile. “I confess, I do not like the modern style that’s fashionable now,” he told her as he held the study door for her. 

“Absolument,” she agreed with a haughty flick of her hair. “You English have no subtlety in your design. So cluttered!” 

“And, if I am honest,” he admitted. “I would hate to change things too much when my mother left her fingerprints all over the house.

She smiled gently and agreed, “Of course, and your mother had wonderful taste anyway.”

They smiled at each other conspiratorially as they entered the study. The room was large with high walls paneled in dark wood and red silk wallpaper. Lined with curio cases, it was an impressive space with several full bookcases, a detailed globe, and overstuffed furniture in red velvet. Loki had been right; there were several hunting trophies on the walls and pelts on the floor. To each side of the fireplace hung the head of a massive lion and a pair of ivory tusks flanked the broad fireplace.

“My inner sanctum,” Thor announced grandly and grinned when she laughed.

“This is exactly what I imagined,” Loki told him with a wide smile. “Tasteful, but masculine,” she explained as she swept around the room taking in the details.

Pointing at the large black bear rug by the hearth, he said, “That bear was one of my father’s kills. I used to fall asleep on it when I was a boy.”

“I can imagine a little blond prince playing with his toys on that rug,” she said with a smile. Stopping before a large map that took up most of one wall, she asked, “What is this?”

Coming to stand beside her, Thor pointed to the pins marking places in Europe and Africa, and told her, “I mark each location I have visited in red pins and the ones I wish to see in blue.”

“You have very ambitious travel plans,” she commented as her fingers traced along the Nile River. “I loved Egypt, though I don’t miss the heat.”

She had a distant, almost dreamy expression as she gazed at the portion of Egypt that the map had well defined. Thor could imagine Loki lounging on pile of cushions like Cleopatra as servants rowed her down the Nile. It was a little more difficult to picture her on the back of a camel under the sweltering African sun, but it was an intriguing image. She was certainly bold enough to go adventuring, even if her skin was snow white and her hands soft.

“Would you excuse me for a few minutes while I freshen up?” he asked.

“Oh, of course,” she said with a mischievous smile. She teased, “You can hardly be seen dressed like a common labourer. What would people say?”

Leaving her to admire the map, Thor said, “Feel free to look around. I won’t be long.”

He paused at the door to the study for a moment, taking in the sight of her slim figure against the background of the world map. It occurred to him then that the house was rather lacking in a woman’s touch since it had been without a mistress since his mother’s death. As he hurried up the stairs to his rooms on the second floor, Thor wondered how Loki might change things if she were given free rein to redecorate. Perhaps he should ask for her help, he thought. The place was looking a little neglected and dated, he had to admit.

In record time, he had washed up and changed into something more fitting. In his own home, Thor forwent a jacket, instead choosing a brocade waistcoat over a linen shirt and tan trousers. Wanting to impress, he added a snow white cravat and a black agate pin with a diamond. When he returned to the study, she was staring intently up at the massive lion’s head with an especially grave expression. Coming to stand beside her, Thor waited a moment, but she did not turn away from the beast’s head or speak. A little concerned that she might be having some kind of episode, he gently touched her arm, making her jump.

“Forgive me for startling you,” he said quietly. “Where did your thoughts wander off to?”

Finally taking her eyes off the lion, Loki told him, “The sun baked Serengeti. It makes me a little sad to see such a magnificent beast reduced to this. He was king of the jungle and now he molders in a study in London.” Giving the lion one more sad glance, she said, “Something so wild and fierce should be running free.”

It was a queer thing to say, but Thor felt it resonate in his heart, “You’re right. He was much more impressive alive.” Thor grasped his hands behind his back as he stood beside Loki. “Hunting seemed like the thing to do, but now that you have put the image in my mind, I think you might be right.”

“I saw ones at Regent’s Park and a sheik we visited in Algeria had two as pets,” she told him pensively. “Those made me sad too. I never understood man’s need to tame wild things. Wildness is beautiful in its own, harsh way.”

Disliking the solemnity in her tone, Thor joked, “That’s your mermaid’s heart. You’ve got the wild ocean in you.”

It worked; Loki laughed, her serious expression lightening into a smile and Thor’s heart eased considerably. She let her fingers trail over the mahogany writing desk and the polished globe, making it spin before moving on to slide her fingers along the shelves of a curio cabinet. Watching her explore was strangely fascinating. He had said it as a joke, but there was something wild under her polished exterior. At first glance, she seemed like a sleek, black house cat, but on closer acquaintance, it became clear that Loki was an untamed panther masquerading as a house cat.

Eventually, she came back to the hearth and pointed to the painting of the woman prominently displayed there, asking, “Who is she? Some relative of yours, I expect. I see you in her face.”

“That is my mother’s engagement portrait. Her name was Lady Frigga Aslög. She came from Norway,” Thor told her. “It’s a good likeness.”

“She was very beautiful.”

The painting showed a radiant young woman with honey colored curls standing in a summer garden. She wore a sunshine yellow frock that would have been fashionable about thirty years earlier with its wide hoop skirt. She had been beautiful and charming and clever and most importantly, a wonderful mother. Loki had been correct in spotting their resemblance as Thor had always favored his golden mother.

“You’re of Viking stock,” Loki commented. “Well, that explains your size. Were you a very large child or did you sprout up in your youth?”

“Mother said I was a large baby and I was always bigger than my peers,” he remembered with a small smile.

Sitting on the red velvet loveseat, Loki said, “I can imagine you as a little boy on that rug with a world atlas, planning your adventures in Africa,” she smiled. “It must have been very nice for her to sit in this room and watch her son play.”

“Lunch is served, my lord,” Mr. Long announced stiffly from the doorway.

Offering his arm to Loki, Thor said, “This way, Madame.”

He led her out to the back garden, one of the few areas Thor had actually bothered to see updated when he first returned. It was neat and fashionable and very green. He had had a badminton court put in on the right lawn and a koi pond and fountain added to the little lady’s garden by the house. The large, circular pools were tiled in the Moroccan style and housed water lilies and other vegetation along with the large, multicolored fish. Along the white gravel path down to the badminton court were French topiaries with lanterns sprouting from their perfectly manicured tops.

Their lunch was set up on a table in the lady’s garden, under a whitewashed trellis overgrown with yellow climbing roses that had been planted by his mother. That was one part of the garden Thor would never change and now he was very glad of it. Seeing Loki haloed by sunlight and roses, she could have been a painting. Before he could help her into her seat, a small red blur bounded up to them yipping excitedly.

“Oh my,” Loki exclaimed, dropping to her knees to great the wiggling Irish Setter pup who leapt into her open arms. “Who is this little sweetheart,” she asked as she tried to fend off slobbery puppy kisses.

Rescuing his guest from the puppy, Thor hoisted the pup up with one hand and helped Loki stand with the other. Now realizing her master was home, the little dog began wagging her whole body with delight, trying to lick Thor’s beard. Loki did not seem put off and was quick to come closer to pet the wriggling bundle of energy.

“This is Eliza,” Thor introduced the lady and pup. “I did promise you a very friendly Irish Setter,” he reminded her as he set Eliza down and helped Loki into her seat. “She’s only three months old, so her manners are still lacking.”

Leaning over the arm of her chair, Loki petted Eliza’s head cooing, “Your manners are just fine. It was a very warm welcome.”

“I confess, I was not sure you would be the sort of woman who liked animals,” Thor told Loki as he watched her fawn over his dog.

“I love animals,” Loki said as she righted herself. “You never have to wonder what an animal thinks of you. Little Eliza here had no false friendliness or hidden motives. She just wants belly scratches,” she explained.

On the table between them was a silver tray of cold roast beef cutlets, cheese and watercress sandwiches, and fat green grapes. To one side sat a pot of tea and a dish of raspberry tarts. There was also a pitcher of chilled water and glasses. It was a good spread for an unplanned lunch and Loki seemed pleased with the fare.

Pouring her a cup of tea, Thor asked, “Will your housekeeper be worried if she returns before you? I could send one of my footmen with a message for her.”

“I left her a note,” Loki said easily. “But thank you for the offer,” she said as she brought the delicate china cup to her rosy lips. After taking an appreciative sip, she commented, “This is very good. It puts me in mind of a tea sent to me by a secret admirer recently.” Her eyes glittered with mischief and Thor felt his face warm. Before he could invent some denial, she went on, “You have a lovely home. It must have been wonderful running through these gardens as a child.”

Grateful for the escape she had offered, Thor jumped at the change of topic, saying, “Yes, I spent a good deal of time in this garden. I think I’ve fallen out of most of the trees and scraped my knees on every rock.”

For a time, they just chatted, enjoying the ease that had blossomed between them. Loki spoke of growing up on the coast and Thor told her about life as the son of a lord. They shared stories of their experiences in Africa; Thor talked of the Congo and Loki of Egypt. They both loved to travel and took great pleasure in urging the other to visit their favorite locations. Thor told of being chased by a wildebeest and Loki about nearly drowning after being attacked by a swan on Lake Como. They laughed and teased like old friends and it was so very pleasant.

It was so easy to talk to Loki and Thor was enthralled. As soon as she was done eating, Loki scooped up Eliza and held the overjoyed pup on her lap. Gone was the stoic and mysterious Madame, in her place was an open and warm lady. The spiritualist in her black silk had been alluring and intriguing, but the lady sitting across from him now was approachable. She looked like she belonged in a sunny garden. Thor felt fortunate to be privy to this side of Loki and he wondered if this was how she had been with her husband.

When they had finished their meal and Eliza had jumped down from Loki’s lap, Thor escorted her to a small path along the side of the house. As they walked, the puppy bounded around their feet, happy for the attention. Circling back, they stopped by the fountain full of koi fish. Loki gracefully settled on the edge of the fountain danced her fingers across the surface of the water, attracting the interest of several fat fish.

“I could happily spend every day in this garden,” Loki sighed dreamily. As she tapped the water a fish bobbed up, hoping for a bug. “You must have had such fun here as a child.” She rested her palms on the edge, her little breasts pushing out towards him invitingly. “You have an estate in Essex too, I understand. Did you spend much time there?”

Thor joined her on the fountain’s edge before answering, “Yes, I did spend a good deal of time as a child in Essex. Though, my youth was spent more in London and Oxford. My mother and father are buried there in the family chapel.”

“When did you lose them?” Loki asked, moving to capture one of Thor’s hands in her own, her tone sympathetic.

“Mother died when I was seventeen, a fever,” Thor answered shortly. Clearing his throat, he went on, “Father had consumption and joined her a year later. When they were gone, I packed up my life and went to sew my wild oats on the Continent and, eventually, Africa.”

She regarded him with tender eyes before asking, “You must have missed them deeply.”

Nodding tiredly, Thor told her, “Mother’s loss in particular was difficult. I loved my father too, but our relationship was always a little strained,” he admitted.

“You are lucky to have had parents that loved you,” Loki said a little dejectedly, patting Thor’s hand briefly before releasing it and folding her hands in her lap once more.

It occurred to Thor for the first time that Loki might not have had the happy childhood he had. She never spoke of her family and some of her comments hinted at a real trauma. Even so, it was difficult to imagine anyone would be unhappy to have a daughter so charming and lovely. Thor would be proud to have a pretty little daughter with dark curls and sparkling eyes. Shaking himself from his reverie, Thor caught the melancholy expression on Loki’s face before she could hide it.

“Would you like to play a game of badminton?” Thor offered, hoping to coax back her smile. “I could teach you if you are not familiar with the game.”

Smirking, Loki chuckled, “I think I can hold my own well enough.”

“With that answer, I’m suddenly having flashbacks to the night you fleeced half the gentlemen out of their money at the billiard tables.”

Now she did laugh, “I fear I am better at pool than badminton, but I would like a game. It’s the perfect day for it.”

They walked to the badminton court and Thor dug out the rackets and a shuttlecock from a box on the side. He passed her a racket and smiled to see her taking up her position on the far side of the net. With a grin, Thor served the shuttlecock to her with a light smack. He did not use his full strength, worried that he might hurt her if Loki missed her swing. She returned the shot with a sharp, efficient thwack. He should have known she was better at the sport than she let on.

It was a good game and Loki kept him running the whole time. Thor laughed as she pirouetted around to catch his shot and send it back. Fairly evenly matched, they went back and forth, sharing teasing jabs and playful taunts. She spun, her long skirt belling out around her as she cracked his serve back at him. Her face was alight with laughter and determination. 

“Are you the sort of lady who expects a gentleman to throw a game for her?” Thor asked as he bounced the shuttlecock on the racket.

“Ha! Only if you can do it convincingly.”

The game went on with joyful competitiveness for half an hour. Eventually it came to a draw. Thor was puffing, a thin sheen of sweat on his brow as he loosened his collar. Loki was flushed and panting as well. A few dark curls had escaped her bun and hung loose around her glowing face. She looked quite fetching. With a strained breath, she wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. Looking closer, Thor saw her neck and chest were flushed too and they were both sweating. The sun had come out from behind the thin clouds and the garden was quite warm.

“It is rather warm,” Thor commented. “Should we go inside and cool down?”

“Yes, please,” she breathed, taking a small fan from her reticule and fanning herself. Thor offered an arm to escort her.

“Are you well, Loki?” he asked with concern. “You are rather pale under the flush.”

Sighing shakily, Loki replied, “I think I’ve overtaxed myself. Yesterday was quite a lot and I should have known better.”

He whistled for Eliza, ensuring the pup did not wander off. “Let’s go inside and get some water. I’m sure we’ll both be much restored after a little rest,” Thor offered.

Nodding, Loki took his arm and went back to the house with him. A long curl dangled down the back of her swan-like neck and Thor was tempted to twist it around his finger. Rosy-cheeked and slightly disheveled, Loki was somehow more appealing than when she was so put together. She could have been modeling for an artist. As they walked, he started to think of more outings they might take, more events where he could see Loki like this.

Thor was brought out of his reverie when Loki swayed, near stumbling. He made sure she was stable, wrapping his arm around her for support, watching her face for hints of distress. The demon, or whatever it had been, had attacked in daylight before, after all. With a wan smile, she accepted his help without her usual witty retort. That she was too tired or ill to find something clever to say was concerning. Thor felt the hard twisting sensation in his chest, the one he’d felt when he had seen her frightened and bleeding. The instinct to protect her was as inexorable as the moon’s pull on the tides.

Eliza barked and bounced around their feet as she escorted them back to the house, a welcome distraction to them both. They passed through the wide hall again, entering into the study once more. Thor kept Loki close until she was seated on the loveseat farthest from the fire. While she sank into the sofa, Thor hurried to pour her a glass of water from the pitcher on the sideboard. If she did not recover shortly, he would have need to call for a doctor.

“Here, drink,” Thor said gently as he passed her a glass.

She sipped it and used the condensation to cool the back of her neck. Now that she was sitting down in the house with a drink, Loki was looking better, if still a bit flushed, but Thor did not relax. She was delicate and in a vulnerable state after all. Sighing, she rested her head on the sofa and closed her eyes.

“Should I call for a doctor?”

“A doctor,” she echoed with a little chuckle. “No, no. I just need a moment to rest. Poor sleep, stress, and too much activity will wear on anyone.”

She flicked her hair off her brow and gave him a cheeky look when he asked, “Are you sure? I would feel better if you were seen by a doctor.”

“Nonsense,” Loki chided. “Call for a cold compress and stop worrying like an old lady.”

Poking his head out of the door, Thor summoned one of the maids and asked for a cool compress and a small bowl of chilled water. Loki slid down to recline on the loveseat, her head on the armrest. Thor helped lift her legs up onto the sofa and very sternly told himself not to admire how long and slender they were.

Checking that they were still alone, Thor asked in an undertone, “Is this something to do with, eh, with what happened in the church and last night? Something supernatural?” he clarified, feeling a little foolish saying it aloud.

“Thank the gods, no,” Loki told him with a slight smile. “It left me drained and I let my competitive streak get the better of me earlier. Nothing more, I promise. Really, you needn’t worry.”

Moments later, Matilda arrived with the compress and cool water.

Thor met her at the door and blocked her view of Loki with his bulk. “Thank you, Matilda.”

“Will you be needing anything else my lord,” the maid asked. “The Madame -”

“Just needs a moment to recover,” he assured her quickly. “Everything is fine.”

Matilda seemed a little reluctant to leave, but Thor offered her his best smile, and she departed. After firmly closing the study door, Thor took the bowl and the compress to Loki and sat on the sofa by her hip. She was still flushed, but she did look a little better.

“Are you certain you do not need a doctor,” he asked, eyeing the sweat on her brow.

Taking the compress, Loki rolled her eyes, saying, “Honestly, I am not made of glass. I will not break so easily,” she teased. 

With the bowl in her lap, Loki unbuttoned the top three buttons at her collar, revealing her neck and clavicle. Closing her eyes, she gently pressed the cloth to her forehead and then down her throat. Hovering at her side, Thor watched as a bead of water traced lazily down the curve of her neck.

Her porcelain skin was rosy red as she stroked the cloth down to her collarbone. Loki sighed as she pulled the lacy collar down a little further to press the cool cloth to her chest. Little droplets shivered on her pale skin like tiny diamonds and quivered with each slow breath. Just the slightest bit of décolletage was revealed now and Thor could not help remembering how lovely her bare breasts were.

“Should I call a cab for you?” he asked, hoping to distract himself before things became rather embarrassing.

“As enjoyable as this has been, yes, please,” Loki breathed without opening her eyes. “I should be getting home and should rest,” she explained.

Thor went to the hall and called Mr. Long to hail a cab. Seeing she looked better, Thor took the bowl from her and gave her a second cloth to dry herself. Loki did not fix her collar, leaving a few inches of lily white skin exposed. It was not nearly enough skin to be salacious, but Thor found his eyes drawn to her chest.

While they waited, Thor looked from Loki to his collection of curios. One in particular caught Thor’s eye. It was an intricately carved elephant of polished ivory just large enough to sit on the palm of a girl’s hand. On its back was an oval-shaped blanket made from lace fine carvings that could be popped out and worn as a necklace. Inside the hollow belly of the elephant was a string of tiny ivory beads carved into the shape of lotuses.

Taking the elephant from its place on the shelf, Thor brought it to Loki and held it out for her to take. Her hands were nearly as pale as the ivory and just as delicate. Her face lit up as she turned the little elephant over to see all the beautiful carvings.

“This is lovely,” Loki marveled.

Thor reached forward and showed her how to take the necklace out of the back. Rather proud of his little gift, Thor strung the pendant over the string of beads. He held the beads spread between his long, rough fingers so Loki could see it properly.

“It’s yours,” he told her brightly. “It was made for a beautiful woman and I surely cannot wear it without raising eyebrows.”

Openmouthed, Loki bridled, “Oh, I couldn’t –”

“Loki, I want you to have it,” he told her earnestly. Thor enjoyed watching her resolve crumble the longer she stared at it. “May I, Madame?” he asked, holding up the necklace.

Loki stood and turned so he could place the necklace around her slender throat. He knew it was improper, but Thor could not resist brushing the perfect curl away from her neck. She gave a little shiver and he saw gooseflesh rise on her exposed skin as he fastened the necklace in place. Twirling back to face him, she beamed down at the pendant. She cupped it between her hands and Thor felt his chest puff out with pleasure to see her so taken with it.

“Thank you, Thor,” Loki said earnestly. “I will cherish it.”

“It was made for you,” Thor told her.

There was a heartbeat when they shared a look. His eyes lingered on her lips as they parted slightly. If she had been any other women, Thor would have sworn she was silently asking for a kiss. Her eyes were half lidded and her cheeks pinked. Part of him wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her firmly, but he remembered what he had done to her and stopped. No, there was no way she wanted him to touch her. Still, her eyes were such a bright emerald, the light hitting her just so. Her lips were exactly the color of rose petals. She smiled almost bashfully up at him. His fingers itched to take her into his arms. 

They had hesitated too long. The moment passed between them and Thor was sad to see it go. 

Loki seemed to shake herself out of it first. Blushing, she whispered, “As much as I would like to remain in your company as long as possible, I think we have scandalized London enough for one day.”

Despite her words, Loki did not move, staying right where she was, so close to Thor he could feel the heat from her body. After the last twenty four hours, they both seemed to find it difficult to pull away. Thor said nothing, instead letting the tension in the room build between them.

“The carriage is here, Madame,” Mr. Long announced, startling them both.

Loki took a step back and took her hat from the poker-faced butler. As she inserted the hat pin into her hair, Thor watched her nimble fingers with admiration. Hiding a sheepish expression, she quickly rebuttoned her collar without looking at Long. Properly attired for travel, Loki took another step towards the door.

“Thank you, for everything,” she said softly. “I hope the next time we meet is under less dramatic circumstances, my lord.”

“Yes, I hope so too.” He took her hand and pressed a chaste kiss to the back before saying, “I will be returning to Whitechapel for a few days, but when I come home I would like to see you again.”

Her lips curled up into a genuine smile, no coyness or secrets, as she said, “I would like that. Be safe, my lord.”

Reluctant though he was to see her go, Thor escorted her outside and helped her into the cab. When she was safely seated in the coach, he gave the driver the address and sent them on their way. He stood watching the cab for a few seconds before returning to his study. Her perfume lingered in the air and Thor breathed deep.


	8. The Knight of Cups (Art)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knight of Cups 
> 
> UPRIGHT: Creativity, romance, charm, imagination, beauty.
> 
> REVERSED: Overactive imagination, unrealistic, jealous, moody.

height="1469" />


	9. Three of Swords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor fucks up big time and Loki get hurt. Much angst ahead. 
> 
> Thanks to ktspree13 for being an amazing editor!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three of Swords Keywords
> 
> UPRIGHT: Heartbreak, emotional pain, sorrow, grief, hurt
> 
> REVERSED: Negative self-talk, releasing pain, optimism, forgiveness

“You made the papers, Madame,” Darcy told him the morning after Loki returned from Thor’s home, dropping the paper on his breakfast table. “I’m not sure how you are going to feel about it.”

Frowning, Loki picked up the paper, expecting to need to flip to the social section, but found himself looking at a rather scandalous print of someone meant to be him. The dark-haired woman in the print was pressed against a wall by a rough looking man, her hand dramatically at her forehead, the scoundrel caught in the act of tearing open her blouse. The headline read, _Whitechapel Relief Angel Assaulted by Brigands_. Loki snorted and read on. The caption beneath the print read, Madame Melusine harassed by Whitechapel robber.

“What nonsense,” Loki spluttered. Aloud, he read, “After risking her safety and health to aid in the relief of the victims of the influenza outbreak in the oft beset Whitechapel area, London’s most beloved mystic, Madame Loki Melusine, was assaulted by a knife wielding brigand who attempted to rob her,” he said in his most dramatic voice. “One of the few women of note to go in person to Whitechapel, the Madame should surely be praised for her bravery and compassion, but there is another whose bravery must be noted. Lord Thor Odinson, Earl of Ásgarðr, lately returned from travels in Africa, was also part of the relief effort and was thankfully on hand to save the Madame before any harm could befall her. This brave pair of philanthropists is to be commended.”

Beneath the article was a second print, this one depicting the dark haired lady swooning into the arms of a large gentleman clearly meant to be Thor, though the figure looked more like a blond Hercules. The front of her blouse was torn open nearly to the top of her corset, showing a scandalous amount of décolletage. The artist was clearly a man.

After that, the article devolved into thinly veiled suggestions that he and Thor were more involved than just acquaintances. The reporter even mentioned that they had danced together four times at the last social event they had both attended. How he had found out about that, he did not know, but reporters were all rats anyway. Loki rolled his eyes and chortled before tossing the paper aside with a snort of disgust.

“There is also a message for you,” Darcy said, holding out a small folded piece of paper.

_ **Dear Loki,** _

** _I hope this finds you well after the upheaval you suffered in the last few days. I write this on my way to Whitechapel as I return there to continue the relief effort. I do not know precisely when I shall be back in polite society, but I would like to see you again. The afternoon in the garden spent with you is one of the best I have had in a long time. _ **

** _Your servant,_ **

** _ T. Odinson _ **

Loki beamed at the message and ignored Darcy’s raised eyebrows. Smirking, he folded it up and locked it in his writing desk. He cut the ridiculous prints and the article out and sent it to Thor with a short note thanking him for his hospitality and the letter. The only reply he received, though, was a missive from Thor’s butler informing him that Lord Odinson had left the city to see to some business at his estate in Essex.

***

The afternoon after their garden luncheon, Thor had refilled his wagon with a load of new supplies, bought and donated by the wealthy, and driven back to Whitechapel. He had a short letter for Loki, but no time to post it. All of his friends were delighted to have the chance to use the many jokes they had been working on since he left. It helped to pass the time if nothing else, though Thor would have liked to change the subject now and again.

“Were you waiting for the chance to sweep her off her feet, or did you just take the opportunity when it presented itself?” Captain Rogers asked not two hours after he’d returned.

Before dinner, Volstagg speculated, “Most brides dream of June weddings, or so my wife told me, but I do not think the Madame will want to follow such traditions.”

“So,” Hogun said as they were falling asleep. “Will she be Madame Odinson or will you be Monsieur Melusine?”

Snickering, Rogers suggested, “Lord and Lady Melusine?”

They were all delighted to remind him of his insistence that he was “just friends” with the Madame, but after the day he had spent with Loki, their teasing made no difference to him. As miserable as the situation in Whitechapel was, Thor’s mood remained light. Loki danced through his mind like a nymph in the woods and Thor did nothing to stop it, though he did feel a little guilty for being so happy when the people around him were suffering.

While he worked doing the manual labour needed to help the volunteer effort Thor’s mind was free to wander. It tended to find its way back to Loki rather often. So much had happened between them in such a short while and Thor needed to mull it all over. They had shared at least one dream, and, he suspected, a second—and that meant something. The more he thought about it, the more certain he was that he had not been alone in that dream on the beach. The two dreams had both been decidedly sensual and romantic, which rather accurately described their encounter in his home. 

Loki was fascinating and unique and Thor enjoyed spending time with her. He was very attracted to her, but he could not quite get past the fact that her body was not fully female.

There was no denying that he was attracted to her, but the truth of her body still unsettled him. Though, if he were being mercilessly honest with himself, that qualm was shrinking like a puddle under the summer sun.

She was enchanting and Thor found he was trying to imagine how it would be to make love to her. The more he thought about it, the less it bothered him. It was not just that she was beautiful and clever; Thor felt comfortable with her in a way he did with no one else. Since losing his dearest friend, Thor had felt distant from everyone, but Loki made him feel as if he had a true companion. They had only known each other for a short while, but after facing so much danger and upheaval, they shared a bond. How could he not care for someone he had held in his arms while they trembled in fear? It meant something—even if Thor was not certain how that made him feel.

As the days passed, despite their best efforts, the influenza continued to burn through the town, claiming more lives as it went. Though they kept their faces covered and avoided working directly with the sick, it was becoming more dangerous to remain in Whitechapel. Danger rarely bothered Thor—he had faced it before—but he had always imagined his end would be epic, like being mauled by a lion, or poignant, like passing of old age surrounded by family. Dying because he caught influenza would be, frankly, embarrassing.

On the third day, when Volstagg took a wagon to get more supplies. Thor seized the opportunity to send his letter to Loki. It was brief, but he hoped it brightened her day. He did not add anything further to say how frequently he had been thinking of her, but part of him hoped she was thinking of him too. It had been his intention to write her again, but the situation had deteriorated so much that Thor could not find a single moment to write.

As the disease continued to spread, it became dreadfully clear that there was nothing anyone could do to stop it. Like the Great Fire, or one of the countless plagues before it, London would just have to pray it could recover. Regretfully, Thor and his fellows left Whitechapel to its unhappy fate, but it seemed Thor’s labours were not at an end. The same day he staggered back to his house, a letter arrived calling him to his estate in Essex to handle a squabble between tenants regarding a disputed property line that had dissolved into fisticuffs. It was inane and it should have been handled by the estate manager, but he made the trip regardless. The fresh country air was a godsend after the exhaustive days in Whitechapel. The long ride gave him time enough for his body to relax into the exercise of the saddle and all told, the whole affair cost him five days.

Finally, at long last, Thor returned to his home in London, a bit more worn and exhausted, but healthy. He was relieved to find letters from his friends assuring him that they were well. With his shoulders slumped and his head down, Thor dragged himself through the foyer with only a grunt to Mr. Long when the butler welcomed him home. As soon as he was through the front door, Thor called for a bath and something to eat without slowing his progress up the stairs. It was all he could do to remain upright while his valet ran him a bath. Leaning against the wall of the bathroom in his robe, Thor stared blankly into the middle distance, too tired to follow the valet’s chatter.

“A bath and some rest’ll set you to rights, m’lord,” Mr. Korg, his Kiwi valet said. “It was good of you to go help all those sick people,” Korg said cheerily as he laid out Thor’s night clothes. 

Waving the comment off, Thor mumbled, “It was nothing.”

“Of course, you could use your position to improve the lives of the poor through political means and financing social movements,” Korg said thoughtfully.

Huffing a laugh, Thor rejoined, “My friend, could we shelve the debate on the merits of Marxist theory until I’ve had a few hours of rest? Have pity.”

Smiling broadly, the valet agreed, “Sure, thing. I just had new pamphlets printed.”

In truth, Jeffery Korg was not a very good valet. He talked constantly, forgot the etiquette of polite society, was a vocal communist, and just a very eccentric person in general. Thor was not actually sure Jeffery Korg was even his real name. The man was of mixed heritage, one parent was a tribesman of New Zealand. They had met while Thor was in South Africa. Korg, as he called himself, had gotten into trouble for trying to convert locals to his political ideology, which did not sit well with the authorities. Thor had liked the big, cheerful man and had bribed the jailer to release him. They had been friends since.

It did not matter that Korg was not very good at ordering his wardrobe or keeping a professional demeanour or that he had never offered to help Thor get dressed. Korg was interesting and never bothered to treat him like anyone but an equal. Besides, Korg was good at keeping his clothes clean and mended and managed all the other tasks of the job well. Mr. Long had never approved of the unconventional choice of valet, but the younger members of staff all enjoyed Korg’s company. 

After crawling out of the bath, Thor shovelled some food into his mouth, and then collapsed onto the bed face first. With a pained groan, he dragged a blanket over his nude and aching body, and buried his face in the pillow. As the mattress embraced him, Thor let his eyes close. In moments, he was asleep, his damp hair spread on the pillow.

*

“What do you have to say for yourself?!” 

Thor woke with a start, his heart racing as something hit him in the face. His ears rang with his Aunt Gertrude’s shrill cry as he stared over at the clock. He’d slept for more than ten hours—clearly no one had dared to wake him—and now his aunt was standing over his naked form, thumping her cane on the floor.

Her elderly face was drawn tight with barely suppressed fury under her biggest, most impressive hat. Groggy and confused, Thor fumbled for the thing that had hit him. It was the _London Times_ from a week ago. Rubbing his eyes, Thor saw the name Melusine on the headline. Aunt Gertrude looked ready to burn his bedding with her eyes alone.

“I...rescued a lady from a bandit,” Thor offered sheepishly. 

“A lady you had no business being anywhere near. That woman is nothing but trouble and you told me you would keep your distance from her, Thor.” 

Flopping back onto the mattress, Thor groaned, “Gods, Aunt Gertrude, we were helping the poor in Whitechapel, not eloping to Gretna Green. She was there with several other ladies, and I was with my friends. It was perfectly acceptable.”

“And yet it is only the two of you on the _front page_,” she accused, a slight roll to her _R_. Thor rolled his eyes, assuming his aunt was being dramatic. Seeing his derision, she snapped, “I have it on good authority that she visited you here unchaperoned.”

That made Thor sit up and glare as he demanded, “And how would you know that, dear auntie? Have you planted a spy in my household?” he teased, though his irritation was clear.

“You are not as stealthy as you seem to think, dear boy.”

Rolling his eyes, Thor retorted, “There was nothing scandalous about our having lunch.” She glared daggers at him, but Thor stood his ground. “Now, am I allowed to rise and dress in privacy or will you want to inspect my choice of wardrobe as well as my friends?”

Gertrude continued to glare at him until Thor threw off the blankets and got to his feet. He was naked and normally he would never dream of flashing his aunt, but he desperately wanted her to leave. With a disgusted sniff, Gertrude turned on her heel and marched from the room in a rustle of heavy silk skirts. The air seemed to return to the room when she shut the door and Thor exhaled. He loved his aunt, but she could be so rigid and bossy sometimes. Groaning, he stretched and wandered over to his closet. 

Korg was not at the wardrobe, as no one had expected their lord to be woken, but Thor hadn’t a care. He dressed himself anyway. He had been too long on his own and he just did not see the point of such ostentations. Still exhausted and unwilling to deal with his aunt for longer than necessary, he chose a plain shirt, a dark waistcoat with a flat pattern, and old trousers he knew she disliked. If he dressed well, she might insist on staying for tea. It was like dressing for battle. 

In short order, Thor was dressed and downstairs, prepared for the ambush that was waiting for him in the breakfast room. Gertrude had already been served tea and was aggressively flaying butter onto a piece of toast as as if she were trying to extract information out of if, she inquired coldly, “Have you considered what an association with such a woman would mean for you?” 

“You mean associating with a beautiful, educated woman simply because she is a bohemian?” Thor arched his brows at his aunt as he took a sip of the coffee. “Madame Melusine is a caring, clever woman with her own fortune. I fail to see why you are so very upset by my friendship with her. It is hardly as if I’ve proposed to her,” he reasoned over his coffee. 

Putting down her butter knife with more force than necessary, Gertrude snapped, “Oh, you mean the Frenchwoman who befriends degenerates and men guilty of gross indecency? Yes, that is exactly the kind of woman who should be the next Lady Odinson.”

“Why do you instantly assume I plan to marry the woman?” Thor demanded tiredly. Thor joined her at the table asking for coffee. There wasn’t a hope tea would sustain him through this encounter. Thompson fetched him his coffee, his expression one of sympathetic understanding, before escaping to the kitchen.

“Well, Auntie,” Thor sat heavily in his chair, “impart upon me your wisdom.”

Eyeing him darkly, the old lady sniffed, “You needn’t be so flippant. Have you thought about what this affair means for our family?” 

Thor scoffed, “It is not an affair, auntie. I am not planning to have an affair with the Madame, either," he said in hopes of plaquating her. 

“It’s not your plans I am concerned with,” she hissed like a cat. “Are you so naive that you have not wondered if she is trying to make you her second husband?”

Setting aside his half finished coffee, Thor sighed, “I am old enough to know when I am being manipulated. The Madame is just a friend,” he argued, though the words tasted sour. At any rate, he was not going to give his aunt more ammunition. “Marriage is not something we have even mentioned. I am not courting her,” Thor told her honestly. Those were not lies, which made him feel a little less uncomfortable. 

“Even so, what happens if another of her dissolute friends is arrested for gross indecency or buggery? How will that reflect on you?”

Though Gertrude could not know it, she had hit a worry of Thor’s and he felt it. If Loki were ever discovered, she would be guilty of gross indecency simply for existing. The law had no place for people like her; she was neither male nor female so no matter how she identified, she would be committing a crime. Her lover would be accused of gross indecency, buggery, and gods only knew what else. And that was just the courts. The people of London would probably burn him at the stake.

“What about children,” Gertrude asked, seizing on his hesitation. “She has been married and had no children. She could be barren. What would you do if you found yourself tied to a barren wife? You would be the last Earl of Ásgarðr,” she reminded him.

The truth was, Thor did not know if Loki could have children. Though he would not fault a woman for being barren, he did want children. He had always imagined having a pack of loud, energetic children livening up his home. Could he knowingly marry a woman who might never give him children? Then again, if Loki could have children, was there a chance they might be born like her? No, he would never treat a child of his like Loki had been, but it would still cause serious problems if his heir was...he did not want to use the word _deformed_, but still...

“She is not a suitable woman for you, Thor,” Gertrude told him, her tone not unkind. “By all accounts, she is charming and very beautiful, but you need a proper lady who can accompany you to court and give you an heir.”

As little as he liked it, she was right. Loki was enchanting and clever, but she brought too much danger with her. Thor could still see her upturned face gilded by sunlight as she smiled at him and his heart leapt. His heart was not to be trusted though, he knew that. For all he desired adventure and excitement, he had always fantasized about a quiet life with a wife he loved and happy children filling up his estate in Essex. It did not seem possible that Loki could give him that.

“I am not planning to marry Madame Melusine,” he told her honestly. “We are friends and nothing more.”

She held his gaze for a long moment, as if sussing out any hint of dissembling. When she seemed appeased, Gertrude said, “Well, thank heavens for that.” Taking a delicate sip of her tea, she asked, “Have you met the Viscount Exmouth’s daughter?”

***

Loki had no word from Thor for over a week, then another week passed in silence and Loki began to fret. At first, he had not been bothered, holding tight to the promise of the letter Thor had sent him. Thor had promised to call on him and he would. But as the days passed, Loki began to wonder. Then he heard that Lord Odinson was finally back in London and his heart leapt! But still, not so much as a calling card. By the time he received an invitation from Lady Sif Bolingbroke to attend her garden party, Loki was wilting like a flower in an unused room. The lady was hoping to introduce Loki to her cousin, a young man from America.

Loki was more excited by the prospect of seeing Thor, though. Being a childhood friend and hunting companion of the Lady Sif, there was a good chance he would attend and Loki was champing at the bit to see him again. He was confused and a little hurt that Thor had been silent for so long. He might have assumed the public feeling against him had scared the man off, but since the news of his dangerous encounter in Whitechapel, Loki’s reputation had markedly improved.

Still hopeful, Loki agreed to attend Lady Sif’s party, and on the day, he even bothered to wear the new green and white striped frock Darcy had picked out for him. In his best straw hat and the ivory necklace Thor had given him, Loki arrived fashionably late, just in time for tea. The Bolingbroke estate was grand and lush and the gardens were as lovely as any the Queen could boast, but it did nothing to make Loki less apprehensive.

Trying to enjoy the music and sunshine, Loki wandered along a row of white roses, avoiding small talk. Really, now that he was here, he wished he had remained at home. What was the point? Outwardly, his face was serene and untroubled, his posture easy and graceful, but inside, his heart was cracking. Staring out at the garden, Loki fingered the pendant. Suddenly Victoria Fowlherst appeared before him and took his hands.

“Oh, my dear,” she clucked. “I cannot believe he would slight you so openly.” When Loki only blinked at her in bemusement, she gasped, “You haven’t seen!”

Gesturing over her shoulder, Loki saw what sent his friend into a tizzy. Thor was strolling along the pond, arm in arm with Charlotte, Lady Exmouth, the pretty young heiress to the viscount of Combermere Abbey. She was delicate, barely reaching up to his shoulder, her dark curls falling over her shoulders, framing her doll-like face. The girl, only just turned eighteen, was one of the most eligible young women in Britain. He could see people’s heads swivelling from the stunning young couple over to him. After all the speculation that had been skipping around the city about them, Thor arrived at his first event since returning with a lady that was not Loki. Thor had blatantly snubbed him, and worse, the whole of London knew.

Bristling, Victoria hissed “He is a cad to escort another lady after showing you such favor. My poor friend! Forget him, his reputation as a womanizer is well known. You have been lucky.”

For a moment, Loki could only stare at Thor, his golden head tilted down towards the girl’s lovely, upturned face as they whispered together. She was smiling up at him, enraptured by his sunny smile and twinkling blue eyes. Loki knew only too well how easy it was to be caught in his gravity. Not so long ago, Thor had smiled at _him _like that. Loki had been certain he wanted to kiss him…obviously he had moved on.

Throwing back his head, Loki gave a bright, carefree laugh, saying in a carrying voice, “Oh, Victoria! What do I care who that man escorts? We danced a few times. Yes, he was very brave, protecting me, but he would have done that for anyone. He means nothing to me.”

“Are you sure?” Victoria asked in an undertone, squeezing his hands comfortingly. Glancing around to be sure they were not overheard, she whispered, “I know you are fond of him, Loki. It would be reasonable for you to be upset.”

Victoria was a bit silly and sometimes slightly flighty, but Loki could not fault her loyalty as a friend. Despite Loki’s calm mask, she could tell he was truly upset. As subtly as possibly, Victoria gave him a bracing pat on the arm.

Loki laughed. “You English are so convinced a man and woman cannot speak to each other without thinking of marriage! He is tall enough to dance with me, that is all I cared about. I wish Lord Odinson and Lady Exmouth the best of luck.”

“Ha! If that is how he treats a lady, Lady Exmouth will need it,” Victoria scoffed in a carrying voice. “How could a man call himself a gentleman when he jilts a lady like the Madame,” she demanded of the surrounding women, who all clucked and tittered in agreement. 

Inside, Loki was cold and sick, but no one would know that. As devastated as he was, he would never allow anyone to see his pain. He could have dropped to his knees and wept, but he gathered his composure and smiled. Though he would never admit he was hurt, he would get an explanation from the lord who jilted him. He was owed that much.

Resolved to have a word with the Lord Odinson—he would not allow himself to call him Thor—Loki moved to the refreshment table. Putting himself between the couple and the punch, he dawdled there, waiting for them to draw closer. Victoria offered to stay, but Loki sent her off to find their hostess. Where he was, Lord Odinson would have to speak to him or cause a scandal in public. Feeling him draw near, Loki turned as if to leave, coming face to face with the man himself. Loki smiled slightly, as if he could not care less who he met, even as he could hear whispers around them.

“Ah, Madame, good day,” Odinson said with forced composure. “You know Lady Charlotte Exmouth, I presume?”

Loki looked the girl over, his smile unwavering, though it did not meet his eyes, and said, “But of course, Lady Charlotte was the toast of London when she debuted…two years ago.” Catching Thor’s eye, he saw the jibe hit home, even though it went over the girl’s head. “My dear, you look lovely. Your dress is so very provincial, you have been in the North country during the off season, I take it.”

It was not the girl’s fault; she was young and pretty and Thor was handsome and wealthy. Of course, she would eat her heart out to have such a dashing young lord escort her to such a major function. Loki would have thrown the little girl in the Thames to be on Thor’s arm, and he knew most of the other ladies would have as well. He still hated little Lady Charlotte with a burning passion, but he knew he was being petty and cruel. The girl did not know what had passed between Loki and her dashing escort and she should not be blamed.

Thor, on the other hand, was completely to blame. He had promised to call on Loki after spending a wonderful day together, after rescuing him, only to snub him without explanation. Loki had cherished the little ivory elephant Thor had given him and wore the necklace every day, constantly reminded of Thor’s fingers on his skin. Now Loki felt like a lovesick fool, and he wanted to hurl the necklace into the nearby pond, or Thor’s face.

Being escorted by an eligible young man to a social event like this was a major show of status. While attending alone had never bothered Loki, being exposed to ridicule certainly ruffled his feathers. Thor had shown him obvious favour and now the bastard was escorting someone else as if it meant nothing! As if the day they spent together in his garden meant nothing! Loki hardly expected a proposal, but being slighted like this was unacceptable. 

“Madame,” the girl chirped brightly, clearly unaware that there was a silent battle raging between her escort and the other lady. “I attended one of your séances last season! It was breathtaking!”

Smiling disingenuously, Loki purred, “Thank you, my dear Lady Charlotte.”

“My father and mother might be hosting an—event,” here her doe eyes flicked up to Odinson’s stony face. “It would be such a delight if you would perform.”

Loki laughed as if the girl had said something funny, “Ma petite fille, I do not _perform_. My lady, I am a spiritualist and a seer, not a circus act. My talents are something I share, not sell.”

“Oh, of course,” Lady Charlotte quavered. “I did not mean to offend, Madame. I am an ardent admirer of yours.”

Loki would hang from London Bridge by his hair before he danced at this little fool’s wedding. It was taking more effort than Loki wanted to admit to resist the sneer trying to curl his lip. Lady Charlotte was barely eighteen and too sweet and frail for a man like Odinson. He was a hunter pursuing a lamb and no doubt he would soon grow bored…just as he had with Loki.

Looking around as if unconcerned, Loki fanned himself and ignored Lady Charlotte’s platitudes. Holding Thor’s gaze for a long moment, Loki said, “I had expected you back in town sooner, my lord. You must have been much engaged…elsewhere,” his eyes travelled over the girl briefly.

“Yes, the situation in Whitechapel was serious indeed,” Thor said, stubbornly ignoring the jibe, though his eyes followed Loki’s fingers as he traced the ivory pendant.

“I had heard…Ah, there is Lady Sif, she wished to introduce me to her cousin. Do excuse me. Lady Charlotte, Lord Odinson.” And with a quick curtsey, he left.

Loki swept away from the man who had left a mark on his heart wearing a serene expression as impenetrable as the Mona Lisa. Behind the marble-smooth façade and sphinx-like smile, Loki was shattering like a dropped teacup. There had been a moment before he had taken his leave when Loki had been sure Thor was about to kiss him and Loki had wanted him to. What an intolerable fool he had been. Keeping his face easy and calm, he smiled and nodded at those he passed and floated gracefully towards their hostess. Another tall brunette, Lady Sif greeted him with a kiss to each cheek and a compliment on his hat.

“Madame, how good to see you,” she said brightly. “Of course, my cousin, Mr. Talbot, has disappeared. You know those Americans, always looking for new frontiers to explore. I do want to introduce you; I think you two will get on very well.”

“Americans are a strange breed,” Loki agreed. “Never you worry, my dear. I am certain he will turn up in a hedge somewhere. My housekeeper is American, I know the species well.”

He liked Lady Sif. She was rather athletic and though a bit unconventional, they tended to run in different circles. They had ridden together on many hunts, and while Loki was less than enthused by the prospect of blood sport, he did love riding. Sif and he shared a love for horses and a mild disdain for ladylike restrictions. They also shared the bond of being unmarried in their twenties, though for different reasons. He was never sure, but Loki suspected Sif’s disinterest in men might have been rooted in an interest in women. That was just one more thing that made him like her; odd birds should flock together.

He was also not very surprised that she had wanted to introduce him to her cousin. She was probably trying to set him up with one of her less wealthy relatives. Loki had money, but no husband. It made sense that a friend would seek to set him up with a relation that was a good match, but with little wealth. A man with good breeding and shallow pockets would be happy with a rich, young widow. It was assumed that a young widow would want a second husband to care for her. Loki was not looking to wed, but a flirtation could be a nice distraction from the bitter taste in his mouth. 

“I asked Miss Fowlherst to find my cousin, but he seems to be eluding her,” Sif laughed.

“Americans are notoriously difficult to flush out of thick brush,” Loki commented. “Perhaps we should call for the dogs to scare out our quarry.”

Spotting something behind Loki, Sif brightened and waved, saying, “Fortunately for him, it seems Victoria has succeeded. Henry, where did you wander off to? We were considering getting the dogs to flush you out like a pheasant.”

Loki turned to see a very tall man with dark brown hair and cobalt coat walking towards them looking a little sheepish. Victoria was resolutely herding him in their direction like a skilled Border Collie. Catching his friend’s eye, Loki flashed her a questioning look and was met by a wicked grin. For a moment, Loki was confused, then he looked more closely at the American and realized that he was rather handsome. Now he understood. As the two reached them, Loki gave his friend and conspiratorial smile.

Victoria swanned over and, on the pretext of giving Loki a kiss on the cheek, whispered, “See, eligible young gentleman are practically growing on trees around here. No need to waste tears on one so undeserving.”

“Madame Loki Melusine, may I introduce my dear cousin, Henry Talbot,” Sif said.

Mr. Talbot smiled winningly and tipped his hat respectfully, though his brown eyes held Loki’s fast as he said, “Pleasure to meet you, Ma’am.”

Loki beamed and asked, “I was not expecting your accent. You are from New Orleans?”

“You have a good ear,” he said. “My family started in New Orleans, but my father moved the family to the Texas border when I was still a boy.”

Smirking, Loki shared a quick look with Victoria before she asked, “Texas? Are you a cowboy then? If I believed half the stories, I would expect you to spend all your time roping wild horses and getting into gun fights with bandits.”

“I can’t say I’ve gotten into any gun fights,” Mr. Talbot admitted with a look that said he wasn’t entirely ashamed of that fact. “And if I believed everything they said about the French I would have expected…well,” he gestured at Loki’s fashionable dress and elegant posture, suddenly clearing his throat. “A stylish, pretty lady with a nice accent. So, exactly you, Ma’am,” he blushed, treating Loki to an awkward smile.

Mr. Henry Talbot was far more interesting than Loki had expected of the rustic American cousin of Lady Sif. Tall and tan, he was less the son of an English gentleman and more the rugged cowboy stereotype down to the slightly unkempt goatee and shaggy hair. He even had the smoky southern accent all the fashionable western stories in the theaters. Mr. Talbot had warm brown eyes and a wide smile that made you think he had a joke on the tip of his tongue. He even tipped his hat to Loki like they did in those silly westerns shows. He made Loki laugh with his inability to pronounce his surname properly.

“Mah-dam Mel-oo-sEen,” Talbot said carefully, still butchering it.

Giggling, Loki said, “No, no, Monsieur! Mha-dem Mel-hoo-sine.”

“See, I don’t hear a difference,” he said grinning. “It just sounds prettier when you say it. Maybe this is too forward for a fine lady like you, but can I just use your first name? I think I can say ‘Loki’ without insulting you,” he joked, giving him a cheeky smile. Seeing Loki’s brow arch, he laughed and said, “Would ‘Miss Loki’ be acceptable?”

Pretending to consider it, Loki hummed, “If it means I am spared hearing your terrible pronunciation, I suppose I can allow it, on the condition that I may call you Henry. Mister Henry, perhaps,” Loki teased.

“I think just Henry would be fine,” he said grinning. 

Lady Sif seemed pleased that her matchmaking was going so well. It was obvious why she would put her cousin in the path of a French widow of less than perfect reputation. Henry was the youngest of four sons, and though his family had money, there was only so much to go around. If a father carves up his empire for his sons, it weakens it. So encouraging the younger sons to seek out rich wives would make sense. Loki might not be a blushing virgin bride or have a glowing reputation, but he was young and very wealthy. They might even overlook Loki’s age and plucked flower.

It was rather in vogue for rich American families to hunt for brides and grooms in Europe. Now, Loki was not exactly in the market for a second husband, but it was nice to be thought eligible at least. He would have been insulted at the match, but Mr. Talbot was charming and not at all put off by his ‘eccentricities.’ After the shock and humiliation of the morning, Loki was more than willing to indulge a little.

By the time Talbot suggested they play croquet, Loki was feeling considerably better about himself and the events of the day. He had not forgotten about Lord Odinson, but the rejection stung less. Of course, Loki had no intention of forming a real attachment with Mr. Talbot, but he could flirt, and if it stuck in certain people’s craws, well, that was just the cherry on top. And it did seem that Lord Odinson was bothered by Loki’s interest in the American. More than once, he had caught the lord watching them.

Unlike most men, Henry was tall enough to easily look over Loki’s shoulder as he instructed Loki in croquet. Honestly, Loki might have known more about the game than he let on, but he was pleased to have Henry’s full attention. Without breaching propriety, Henry was careful to touch only Loki’s elbows, shoulders, and hands to show him how to hold the croquet mallet.

“Now, you just swing, nice and straight,” Talbot coached, his fingers light on Loki’s arm. Loki brought the mallet down with a clack, causing the ball to roll towards the hoop and Talbot to cheer, “There you go! You’re a natural, Miss Loki.”

Beaming, Loki clapped his hands together and looked around for Victoria. Instead, his eyes met Lord Odinson’s, who had come closer while Loki was distracted. The lord’s surly expression made Loki’s stomach turn and it was only when Henry brushed his elbow that Loki realized his new friend had noted the coldness between himself and the lord. Standing beside him, Lady Charlotte glanced between them with a small frown. Turning away quickly, Loki forced a smile and watched as Victoria failed to hit her ball.

“Thor, come play,” Lady Sif called. “We’ve only just begun and there’s another mallet and ball if your partner will join you.”

Much to Loki’s surprise, Odinson agreed. Very quickly that friendly game took a turn as the two gentlemen became increasingly competitive. Halfway through the game, the ladies had all but ceded the court. Lady Sif and Victoria stood together, still trying to win, despite how poorly Victoria played. Loki and Lady Charlotte hovered near their partners, obliged to keep taking their turns, though it was now painfully clear that the game was between the two men. Shrugging at his opponent and the sharer of his discomfort, Loki made a joke about masculine competitiveness. 

Eventually, the ladies grew bored and drifted closer so they could chat. Neither Odinson nor Talbot seemed to notice, much to the ladies’ irritation. But there was something very amusing about two very large, hardy men competing in a heated game of croquet whilst battling for something else entirely, pretending it was only the lawn game they cared about. Men really could be preposterous.

“Do you think they’ve noticed we stopped playing,” Victoria asked as she leaned on her mallet.

Sif rolled her eyes and adjusted her hat, sighing, “It’s like they are children.”

“Children can be reasoned with,” Loki remarked over his glass of punch. “And sent to bed without supper when they are misbehaving.”

“It would be less embarrassing if they were any good at croquet,” Sif said. “At this rate, they will still be playing tomorrow.”

Waving her fan in warning, Victoria hissed, “Let them keep playing. Heaven forbid they take this nonsense to the tennis court. They’ll both die of exhaustion before admitting defeat.”

“Are men always like this?” Lady Charlotte asked.

The older three women chuckled and Sif scoffed, “Why do you think I have not taken a husband?”

“Why do you think I am a widow?” Loki countered.

Victoria snorted like a horse and blushed furiously, covering her face with her hands. Despite their differences, the follies of men would always serve to bond women. Loki found he liked Lady Charlotte, naive and innocent though she was; she had more gumption than one would expect of a well-bred girl of her age. He could see her growing into a formidable woman with a little guidance. The ladies continued to watch the two-man lawn war for another few minutes in companionable silence. The rest of the guests had largely departed by that time, but neither Lord Odinson nor Mr. Talbot seemed to notice. Loki was relieved when Lady Sif provided an escape.

“Look at the time,” she said loudly, ensuring the men heard. “It is nearly five o’clock and the ball at Middleton is set for eight.”

Taking the hint, Victoria chimed in, “Dear me, if we don’t hurry we will be horribly late.”

Realizing the game was canceled the men turned over their mallets and let themselves be shooed towards the house by the ladies. Rather pointedly, Mr. Talbot put himself between Lord Odinson and Loki and kept up a steady stream of talk, leaving no room for anyone else to divert Loki’s attention. Smiling serenely, Loki only gave the lord one brief glance before allowing the American to help him into his carriage.

“You’re coming to the ball, I hope,” he asked before letting go of Loki’s hand. When Loki said he was, Talbot beamed. “Is it too much to hope the first spot on your dance card is open?”

“In fact, it is,” Loki said very clearly, knowing Odinson heard. “I have been recently left without a partner. I do hope your dancing is better than your French,” he teased.

Totally at his ease, Henry replied, “Don’t you worry, my feet aren’t as clumsy as my tongue.” Taking Loki’s hand once more, he placed a very courtly kiss on his knuckles before shutting the carriage door and politely tipping his hat. “Until this evening, Miss Loki.”

***

The American was obviously a fortune hunter and Thor could not understand what Loki was doing with that man. It was infuriating to see her giggling and batting her lashes at that absurd cowboy. Surely Loki knew the man was angling for her money. It boiled Thor’s blood to watch that Yankee bastard flirt with her in his stupid, drawling accent. And Loki just purred and smiled at the fool as if he were a prince instead of a penniless beggar.

When Loki said she had lost her dance partner, Thor had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from barking out a retort. What could she mean by it? They were friends after all and there was no reason they could not stand up together on occasion. It was not as if Thor was engaged to Lady Charlotte, and even then, he could still partner other women. He had never promised Loki anything but friendship, so she had no right to act as if he had jilted her.

“Are you attending the ball at Middleton?” Thor asked Lady Charlotte, pointedly pretending he had not heard Loki’s comment.

“I was, but I believe I am developing a headache,” she told him, her tone rather chilly.

Damn it all! Now Loki was costing him his chance with Lady Charlotte. This was not like Lucy Aster, who was no more than the sister of a friend. Lady Charlotte was exactly the sort of woman he should be trying to marry. Aunt Gertrude had been right, he needed to settle down, but if he kept letting that French vixen under his skin, Thor was going to die alone.

Trying to salvage the situation, Thor said, “I sincerely hope you recover in time to join us tonight, my lady.”

Completely unaffected by his most charming smile, Lady Charlotte told him, “One can hope. Have a good evening, my lord.”

After he helped her into her carriage, Thor turned to find Sif standing directly behind him, her arms crossed and her expression fierce. Mercifully, her cousin had excused himself. They had known each other since they were children and Sif had never been afraid to tell him exactly what she thought. This appeared to be one of those times. Thor was in no mood for her acerbic criticism.

“What on earth was all that about?” she demanded sharply as Thor stubbornly called for his own carriage. “Honestly, Thor, I was half convinced you were going to throw a punch at Henry over a game of croquet. You managed to insult two ladies in one day, so I hope you’re pleased with yourself,” she told him.

Not looking at her, Thor said, “It was just a game of croquet, Sif. And I didn’t insult any ladies today, thank you.”

“I know you are not that thick skulled,” Sif rejoined tartly. “Thor, there has been open talk about you and Madame Melusine since the incident in Whitechapel. Coming here with Lady Charlotte put the Madame in a terrible position. She came unaccompanied and there was talk. Then you got into that ridiculous contest with Henry and ignored Charlotte.” Sif crossed her arms, giving Thor a reproachful look, near demanding an explanation.

“She found a gentleman quickly enough,” Thor grumbled as his carriage pulled up. It was a weak excuse, but he wasn’t sure what else he could say. “Sif, I’m sorry I let things get competitive with your cousin, but Loki can look after herself. I’ll see you at the ball,” he said by way of a farewell.

“Do try to bring your good sense,” she shot back before his carriage could pull away.

Seething, Thor sank back into his seat. Loki was so infuriating and she had gotten Sif on her side. He knew he should have at least sent her a message when he returned from Essex, but her actions were far beyond the censure that deserved. Loki had all but ignored him the entire day and Thor was sure he had caught her smirking at him as if she were dallying with the American only to irritate him. Perhaps that was her game, but he was not going to be made jealous by a woman he was not even courting.

And they were not courting! Thor had only said he would have liked to spend more time with Loki, which was true. The day they spent at his home had been one of the best he had enjoyed in some time. But, if he could be friends with Sif, why then could he not be friends with Loki, too? Admittedly, his relationship with Loki was a little different, but not _that _different. Thinking of the day he had gifted Loki the ivory necklace, his face heated. Shaking his head, Thor reminded himself that he had given Sif gifts as well. He had not treated Loki so very differently that any other woman of his acquaintance he considered a friend. 

Thor still wanted to protect Loki, and he valued her friendship, but there was no way it could ever be more than that. Yes, of course, there had been a moment when he had toyed with the idea. In the hazy afternoon light of his study, he had imagined Loki as the lady of the house and a pack of happy children chattering around them... But the fact remained that if Loki were ever discovered, it would ruin Thor. Even if he could ensure she was never found out, Thor still needed heirs, and he did not think Loki could give him that.

He could admit that his attraction to Loki had nearly overridden those objections, but Aunt Gertrude had reminded him of his duties as the earl of Ásgarðr. Thor could not allow his...fancy, he supposed, to lead him into something he would regret. Gertrude had been furious with him for continuing to associate with Loki and Thor could understand why. Though he was determined to remain friends with the Madame, Loki was just not a suitable wife.

Rubbing his face tiredly, Thor supposed Sif was right, though. He ought to have told Loki he was accompanying someone else so she could find her own escort. It just had not occurred to him; Loki was so independent and bohemian that she hardly required an escort to a garden party. Having left from Essex right after returning from Whitechapel, Thor honestly had not realized the talk about them had become so prevalent. With the insanity of the past few days, Thor had not had the energy to bother with the paper. Apparently, the _Times _had been spending a fair amount of ink on them. Of course there was gossip, but he had no idea it had gone that far. It certainly explained Aunt Gertrude’s unannounced and unpleasant visit to his house. No wonder the old lady had been so furious. 

What a right mess this day had turned into. Thinking back on the past few days, Thor considered what he might have done differently to avoid this disaster. He should have told Loki he was going to escort Lady Charlotte, he saw that now. And he could admit that he ought to have thought about what kind of assumptions people would make after their adventures in Whitechapel. Beyond that, Thor was assured of his innocence. He and Loki were not lovers and he had never promised her anything of the kind. Yes, he had been thoughtless with her feelings, but he was not the villain she had made him out to be.

Had Loki expected their day in the garden would lead to more? Looking back on that encounter, on the way the afternoon light gleamed on Loki’s pale skin, Thor had wanted her and he was almost convinced she had felt the same. But desire and attraction were not promises of love and marriage proposals. She could not have believed they had a future together, he told himself. For all the moments of affection they shared that would not make up for the dangers and Loki could not be ignorant of it. It was impossible.

When Thor finally got home, he had his valet run him a bath and fetch his best suit for the ball. He scrubbed himself as if he could wash the irritation and disappointment from his skin. Once he was clean, he had his valet trim and even out his beard. With cologne applied and hair styled, Thor donned his best coat of blue velvet, so dark it was almost black, with gold buttons. He added a scarlet silk cravat and gold cufflinks. Thor was not a dandy by any means, he was too rough and large, but he could still dress very well. He wanted to look his best.

The American was dressed well enough at Sif’s party, but Thor knew he could not possibly own a suit as fine as the one he had. Unlike that scheming cowboy, Thor had no need to prey on wealthy widows to swell his fortunes. Just the thought burned his soul like a cigarette to the skin. It did not even occur to him that he might dress his best to impress Lady Charlotte or another eligible woman. He just wanted to show Loki that she was settling by choosing the American. As her friend, Thor’s concern was reasonable, he told himself.

*

When he arrived at the ball, Thor found it packed, but there was no slim black clad figure among the crowd. Loki must be planning to make a dramatic entrance by arriving late. Unlike the Madame, Talbot was there, paying court to several of his cousin’s friends. How he wished Loki could see how quickly her suitor forgot about her. Surely that would cool her interest in Talbot if she had any self-respect. Stalking to the refreshment table, Thor positioned himself so he could watch the doors.

“Are you hoping Lady Charlotte will come?” Volstagg asked as he appeared at his elbow. 

Only then did Thor realize he had totally forgotten about Lady Charlotte. She had said she did not plan on attending, so what was he supposed to do? Things did not seem as if they were going to work out with her anyway. There were other eligible women and escorting her once was not a marriage proposal. Glowering like a thunderhead, Thor sipped his wine and refused to answer Volstagg’s question.

By the time he finished his first glass, he saw a flutter of cream and black satin at the doorway and knew Loki had arrived. Unlike her normal mysterious black gowns, she wore a sleek dress of cream with black lace and silk accents. Around her slender neck was the necklace he had given her, the pendant resting on the swell of her breasts above the bodice. Half of her hair hung in loose curls down her back. She looked more like the woman he had seen in his garden and she was breathtaking. Out of the corner of his eye, Thor saw Talbot excusing himself from his group and hurried to meet Loki first.

Loki was still in the doorway, receiving her dance card, which she tucked into an ivory bag. Cutting through the crowd, Thor met her as she entered the main room and blocked Talbot’s approach. She looked up at him with a serene but closed expression as she curtsied. There was no warmth in her eyes.

“Madame, you look beautiful as always,” Thor greeted. 

Her hand went to the ivory pendant at her throat as she answered, “Good evening, my lord. You look very dashing. What a pity Lady Charlotte is not here to see the effort.”

Loki saw something over his shoulder and her face brightened a little. It burned Thor that it was not him that made her light up. He suspected what, or who, she saw, but Thor did not look. When her eyes returned to Thor, they were full of regret and sadness and hurt.

“Miss Loki,” Talbot butted in as he shot Thor a dark look.

Flushing, Loki said, “I promised Mr. Talbot the first dance. I am sure you already have a partner…” When she turned back to the American, her face was once again bright.

With that she left on the American’s arm and Thor had to push down the urge to call her back. The music began and Thor moved out of the way, trying not to look as furious as he felt. With a new drink, Thor watched as Loki and Talbot began dancing a quadrille. She smiled up at the cowboy in a way that made Thor’s stomach ache. He supposed that he deserved the snub after his faux pas with Lady Charlotte. However, Lady Charlotte was high class and eligible, while Talbot was a fortune hunter who stank of horse.

Rather than stand to the side and look like a fool, Thor straightened his coat and marched up to the first attractive young women he spotted. He thought her name was Helen, but he could not recall. It did not matter, he just needed a partner. Helen, or maybe it was Ellen, had loose red curls and brown eyes. Putting on his most charming smile, Thor offered her his hand and then swept onto the dance floor. He positioned them so that they would be dancing in Loki’s line of sight.

Frustratingly, Loki did not so much as glance in his direction once. The simmering heat in Thor’s gut was steadily growing into a blaze. His partner said something, but Thor did not hear it, or care. When the music faded, Thor handed the girl off to someone else and turned to ask Loki for the next one, but she was already standing up with Talbot again. Irritated, Thor found another partner and went back to the dance floor. Rather than focusing on his dance partner, Thor watched Loki and Talbot flirt and banter.

After four dances Loki finally stopped for a drink, but Talbot was at her elbow before anyone else could get near her. The man was as bad as a pointer spaniel the way he hounded Loki and she seemed totally unaware of it. Unable to stand it any longer, Thor shouldered through the crowd and came to stand on Loki’s other side. Over the ivory comb tucked into her bun, he and Talbot gave each other glacially civil looks.

“Madame,” Thor said, taking her attention from the American. “May I have the next dance?”

She seemed taken aback as she stammered, “I, well…” Turning quickly to Talbot, she made an apologetic face before saying, “Of course, my lord.”

Thor smirked at the sour faced American as he offered Loki his hand and led her out onto the floor. Her hand was cold in his and Thor was reminded of the night they had spent on the floor of her study when she had woken to bloody scratches on her arms. Despite that, Loki’s face a serene mask of porcelain that Thor could not read. Thor could feel her heart pounding as he took up position. Was she afraid of him after everything he had done to prove himself?

“My lord,” Loki began in an undertone. “I am surprised you would ask me to dance.”

“Why would that surprise you?” Thor asked tartly. He took a deep breath and said seriously, “We are friends and preferred dance partners.”

Unlike last time they danced, Loki avoided his gaze, saying, “I thought so as well, but then you slighted me in front of all of London, my lord.”

When they could make eye contact again, he demanded, “What is this sudden return to formality? I thought we were beyond such niceties. Yes, I escorted Lady Charlotte, but you hardly missed a step before you took up with that American. I could say the same of you, Loki.”

“I simply made a new acquaintance,” Loki told him honestly. Eyes going sad, she said, “But you promised to call and then ignored me for the better part of a month. I have been the butt of jokes for ages. I thought I could trust you.”

There was no hiding that they were not enjoying their dance together. Though they glided through the motions, Thor’s face was stormy while Loki’s was completely detached and cold. It was nothing like the joyous, flirtatious dances they had shared before.

It took every bit of his self control to keep his voice quiet as he responded, “You know you can trust me. I’ve protected your secrets, haven’t I?”

Sighing, Loki asked, “My lord—Thor… Why did you snub me? I thought…Well…” 

“I – I should have sent you a letter,” Thor admitted. “We are not engaged, Loki. I do not need to give you an account of my every movement. We are friends,” he said, emphasizing the last word.

Eyes flaring, she hissed, “Yes, _friends_. I was attacked twice in front of you and you did not bother to check on me once after that. If our places were reversed, I certainly would have done so for you.”

Thor clenched his jaw a moment before arguing, “Did I not take you home directly? And I was against you even going to that place. I stayed with you,” he reminded her as his temper flared.

People were watching them and color bloomed in her cheeks as Thor turned her. There would be talk, but there was no way Thor could talk to Loki in private and he was not going to wait for a letter to be sent and possibly ignored. He saw that she too was considering the ramifications of this encounter before she pasted an unconcerned smile on her face. 

“There was a moment when I thought,” Loki bit her lip. “We shared dreams. That means something… Surely, you knew what people would say when you escorted Lady Charlotte.”

Grinding his teeth, Thor growled, “So you take up with that fortune hunter? Loki, do you really think he cares for you? He wants your money.”

“Of course I do not think a man I met this afternoon cares for me,” Loki rejoined. “Am I not allowed to enjoy a man’s company?” she asked sharply. 

“Do you think he will still be so fond of you once he knows the truth?” he asked as his eyes dropped to her waist.

Eyes going wide, Loki flinched and missed a step in the dance. Thor could not recall her ever making a mistake in a dance before; Loki was a gifted dancer. Wobbling, she turned the wrong way and bumped into Thor’s chest. He could hear murmuring under the strains of the music now.

“Maybe he will surprise me,” Loki said, as if she had not stepped on the hem of her gown. Her eyes shone with unshed tears as Loki whispered, “Simply because I was not lucky enough to secure your interest does not mean I must be alone forever. Maybe I am just enjoying the attention. Is that a crime?”

Thor glanced around before whispering in her ear, “No, but what is between your legs _is_ a crime.”

He had meant it was a warning, but when she staggered, missing another step, it was clear that she had not taken it that way. When he caught her, Thor saw the heartbroken expression on her face and his mistake became all too clear to him. In his moment of temper, Thor had said exactly the wrong thing. There was no way he could explain himself now. They had both lost the thread of the dance and before Thor could right them, Loki wrenched her hand free of his and escaped to an adjoining room. Of course, Talbot was hot on her heels, leaving Thor standing in the middle of the dance floor looking like a fool and a boar. Feeling sick and guilty, Thor quickly made his way out of the house.

In his coach, Thor slammed his head against the back of the seat and cursed himself. The last thing he had said to Loki echoed in his skull like a tolling bell. What he had meant to say was that he was concerned that if Loki trusted the wrong person she could be ruined, imprisoned or worse. All he had meant to do was warn Loki and protect her from a predator but his temper had gotten the better of him. There was no way he could salvage that.

As he stared dully out the window, something worse occurred to Thor. Loki had said that she had not been lucky enough to secure his affections. So, she had thought they were moving towards something more. Thinking back again on that afternoon in his study, Thor could not say she was wholly misguided. Thor had allowed his aunt to scare him into escorting Lady Charlotte when he had known there was something blooming between them. He had utterly ruined everything now and he knew it. There was no way Loki could forgive him for his thoughtless words.

Tugging at his hair, Thor fought down a yell of frustration. Loki would never allow him to make amends now. She had trusted him with her secrets and he had stupidly said something he could not take back. Gods forgive him because Loki certainly never would. Thor knew he did not deserve her forgiveness. If Talbot did manage to win her favor, he might take her away to America. She would be lost forever, miserable living as a cowboy’s wife, and out of Thor’s life for good...

***

Hiding in a side room, Loki pressed himself against the wall and tried to fight back the tears that were clinging to his eyelashes. Putting a hand over his mouth, he fought down the urge to sob openly. He wanted to leave, to slink home in shame, but that would mean facing all the people who had seen him be humiliated. Thor was still out there and Loki could not face him. Those parting words stabbed into his heart, stealing his breath away. There was nothing crueller Thor could have said in that moment.

“What did he say to you?” Henry demanded as he burst into the room. Handing Loki his handkerchief, the American said, “You’re as white as a ghost.”

Dabbing at his welling eyes, Loki said, “Oh, nothing of import.” He waved it off and sniffed miserably. “I am being overly sensitive.”

Lady Sif entered the room wearing a murderous face, though she softened when she saw Loki’s dejected expression. Taking out her dance card, she gently fanned Loki’s wet face and muttered darkly, “I cannot think what got into Thor’s head today. He has been odd since he came home from Africa, but I had begun to think he was straightening himself out.”

“Well, we have words for a man that makes a lady cry at a ball,” Henry grumbled.

Henry knelt beside Loki’s chair and made soothing noises, patting his shoulder gently, and urging him to drink a little of the wine the servant had bought. Loki took the drink gratefully, sipping at it daintily. His whole chest ached as if the lord had punched him. Of all the things Thor could have insulted him for, the thing he could not change was the one that hurt the most. Miserable and heartbroken, Loki pasted on his best public face and dried his eyes. Lord Odinson had made him a laughing stock in the eyes of his peers for the last time.

“Oh, Henry, forgive me,” Loki said, doing his best to sound only slightly embarrassed. “I have so enjoyed your company, but I think I must retire early.”

Smiling gently, Henry said, “That’s perfectly alright, Miss Loki.”

His stomach roiled as he looked back through the door. The gaggle of gossips were peeking in at them. Lip quivering, Loki wished he could just disappear forever. Normally he could brush such things off, but this was the most humiliated he had ever been as an adult. Patting at his eyes with the borrowed handkerchief, Loki did his best to hide his shame.

Glancing first at the crowd and then at his cousin, Henry said, “Let me walk you to your carriage…We can say you aren’t feeling well.” It was a kind gesture.

“I can clear the way,” Lady Sif offered before she rounded on the gossips. They scattered like hens in a yard.

Helping Loki to his feet, Henry escorted him through the rooms. Loki kept his head up and his face calm. There was nothing in the world that would induce him to make a spectacle of his pain so these people could have something to gossip about. It did not change that his face was drawn and his eyes a little red, but Loki carried himself with dignity. The American’s rough hand placed over Loki’s helped anchor him. He was grateful Henry did not mind his punishing grip on him to hide his shaking hands.

Henry walked Loki to his carriage and kissed his hand when he helped him into his seat. After the door closed and the carriage trundled away, Loki closed his eyes and let the mask fall away. There was a dagger in his chest, the end buried deep in his heart. His entire body was numb, but he feared what would happen once he removed the knife.

Clutching at his chest, Loki remembered the exercises he had learned to calm his ragged breathing. He could have forgiven Odinson for the slight but not _this_. ‘What you are is a crime’ would be carved upon his heart until his dying day. 

*

For the rest of the ride, Loki stared blankly at the far wall of the cab, startling when it stopped in front of his home. He nearly fell out of the carriage as he exited. When he finally made it to his front door, he stood before it, miserably, fumbling for the keys. Luckily Darcy put him out of his misery, opening the door before he could find the right one.

“What did Lord Odinson do now?” Darcy demanded as she hurried him inside.

As he was shooed upstairs, Loki told her. “He said something…something cruel.”

“I should have hit him with the hat rack,” the housekeeper grumbled. It was almost enough to make Loki smile. “Let me run you a bath, Madame.”

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

Not for the first time, Loki was glad he had found a house with a dedicated bathroom. Running water was a must, but most of the fine, older houses still required their owners to bathe by the fire in their bedroom or kitchen. This house was a godsend. Sitting at his vanity in his room, Loki stared blankly into the mirror while Darcy took the pins and silk flowers from his hair. The face in the mirror was wan and sad behind the light powder and the touch of rouge on his lips.

“Did Mr. Talbot like your dress?” Darcy asked as she set the pins aside and picked up the brush to work the knots out of his loose hair. “You did look very lovely.”

“Mr. Talbot did compliment me,” Loki admitted with a weak smile. “What a pity I only wore it for an hour or two.”

Darcy patted his shoulder to get Loki to stand so she could undo his dress. It was a good thing he did not normally keep his corset too tight or he would have fainted in the carriage when he’d begun hyperventilating. He was still glad to have the thing off. Darcy quickly went to run the tub while Loki removed his shoes and stockings. Were he made like most women, he would have removed his chemise and gone into the bathroom, but he could not risk Darcy seeing him. 

Thanking her, Loki added some lavender oil to the water and waited for Darcy to leave. He stared into the slowly filling water and swirled it with his hand. When Darcy shut the door behind her, Loki sighed and slipped out of his chemise, sliding into the tub. Taking a deep breath of the lavender scent, Loki made himself relax. He closed his eyes, as he slid down into the water, almost to his chin. The heat sank into his bones as the currents caressed his skin.

Long, black hair swirling around him and steam curling in the air, Loki’s unnaturally pale skin was flushed a becoming rosy color. Sinking deeper, he could have been a painting of Ophelia with his sad, hopeless expression. Letting his hands slowly wave through the bath, the water sliding through his fingers like silk, he tried to focus on the sensations of his body instead of the feelings in his heart. Keeping his self-control required all his concentration. 

The door cracked open, making him jump. Darcy poked her head in and held out an ornate glass of glowing green liquor, saying, “I thought you might want some absinthe.”

Pulling his legs up to hide his cock, Loki reached for the glass.

“You don’t need to hide like that, Madame. It’s alright,” Darcy told him kindly as she brought him the drink. 

Paling, Loki whispered, “W-what do you mean?”

“I know you are, well,” Darcy knelt beside the tub, resting her arms on the porcelain, her chin atop them. “I know you’re different. I won’t tell anyone.”

Grasping his glass so hard it was in danger of breaking, Loki echoed, “Different?” 

“Some of your chemises are very thin, Madame,” Darcy explained. Seeing Loki’s horrified expression, she swore, “I wasn’t looking and I won’t tell anyone.”

“How long have you known?”

Darcy shrugged, “Two years or so.” Before Loki could say anything, she told him, “Don’t worry, Madame. You can trust me.” 

The mechanisms in his brain ground slowly back into action, and Loki finally said, “I…yes…” He met Darcy’s eyes, vulnerable and nervous. “I do...” 

It was true; Loki did trust Darcy Lewis with his life. They were both women who had survived violence and social stigma. After the death of his husband, Loki had taken no one into his service for more than the time he spent in any city besides Darcy. The American was always reliable as well as a source of good cheer. If anyone had to be trusted with his secret, Darcy was at the top of his list. Still frozen in shock, Loki had said nothing further, but Darcy seemed to understand.

“Enjoy your bath.” She got up and left the room with a smile.

Closing his eyes, Loki slid back down into the water and sipped his absinthe. It was a taste he had developed during his time at the Moulin Rouge. Some days required something stronger than tea or even whiskey. It had a wonderful magic to wipe his mind clear for a few blissful hours. Toulouse-Lautrec, his friend from his time in Montmartre, had introduced him to it when they were drinking in dark corners of cabarets.

The pain in his chest was not lessened by the drink, but Loki knew he could find some relief at the bottom of his glass. Alone in his tub with his glowing green glass of oblivion, Loki wept hard. When he had asked Lord Odinson what he saw when he looked at Loki, the man had said he was a beautiful, poised, and educated lady. It had meant so much more than he knew. Now he knew he was a liar.

When the water in the tub had cooled and the glass had been emptied, Loki crawled out of the bath and stumbled to his bedroom with the towel dragging behind him. Rubbing at his eyes, he dropped onto the stool of his vanity and brushed out his wet hair with numb hands. The braid he twisted into his hair was uneven and lumpy, but it would hold. Naked, he crawled into bed and buried his face in his pillow.

*

In the morning, Loki woke with a headache that had more to do with the tears he had wept into his pillow than the absinthe he had drunk. Darcy woke him after nine with a tray of tea, eggs, and scones. He remained in bed, something very unlike him, and ate without interest. Listless and unhappy, Loki tried to send his breakfast back, but Darcy bullied him into eating. While he ate, she brushed out the mess of his hair and twisted it into a neat bun.

“There’s mail for you too, Madame,” she told him.

Bored, Loki flicked through the letters and saw one was from Lady Sif and the other from her cousin. Sif was conciliatory and solicitous, hoping that Loki did not blame her for the unpleasantness at the ball. She talked about the influenza outbreak and her plans to leave for Bath now that it was spreading.

Frowning, Loki picked up the paper and read the news that the influenza had spread out into Cheapside and the rest of the city as well. There would be a mass exodus from London by the upper class until the danger passed, Loki knew. The paper said the Queen was on her way to her home on the Isle of Man. Sif even said there was a large party planning to take up the Season in Bath and the land there about. She even hinted that she had heard that a certain lord was not on the list to attend.

Henry’s letter was far warmer and less veiled. He openly asked that Loki make for Bath, both for his safety and because he very much wanted to continue their acquaintance. It made Loki smile, but it did not reach his heart. He liked Henry. Under other circumstances, Loki might have liked him very much indeed; but every time he tried to envision the American’s face, it morphed into Lord Odinson’s. Brown eyes became blue, sandy hair to blond. And then Loki would recall the way Thor had looked when he told him his body was a crime and his heart broke all over again.

He read Henry’s letter again, his agony changing to anger as he thought about how he had been betrayed. Resolved, Loki decided he _would _go to Bath, _and _flirt with Henry Talbot, and he would forget all about the moment he had shared with Thor in his study, when he had been so sure he would be kissed. Maybe he would even kiss the handsome American. He would not allow himself to think too far ahead, but, perhaps Henry might not mind that he was not made like other ladies.

Finally getting up, Loki dressed in loose, comfortable robes from his time in Egypt. In the mirror, he caught sight of the beautiful ivory necklace still resting on his chest. Turning, he saw the ornately carved little ivory elephant Thor had given him that day at his home. That would not do. Taking off the necklace, Loki dropped it on the vanity. Feeling a little flame of resentment catch inside him, Loki strode to his writing desk, penning a frosty, but polite letter, returning the gift and cutting ties with the man. 

_My Lord,_

_I feel it necessary to return this gift. You told me it was meant for a beautiful woman and you have made it clear that I do not meet those standards. May I suggest you give it to some more deserving lady? I wish you the best of luck in the future._

_Sincerely,_

_Mme L. Melusine_

Loki sent the letter off swiftly with the elephant and necklace in a little box. Part of him ached to see Darcy pass the parcel over to the blushing postman. Blinking back a few tears, he spun away from the window and bit his knuckle to distract himself. He could still race downstairs and call the man back before it was too late... 

No, Loki knew this was for the best. 

*

Less than two hours later, Darcy entered his study with a frown and a box. His housekeeper’s face was dark and uneasy as she passed him the parcel with the familiar stamp. Inside was a letter and a selection of pears and oranges. Tucked between the packaging was the elephant and ivory necklace.

_Dear Loki,_

_I will not ask for your forgiveness for what I have done, as I know I do not deserve it. My words were poorly chosen and spoken in haste. I did not mean to imply there was anything wrong with you. What I was attempting to say was that I fear for your safety if you put your trust in someone undeserving. The idea of you suffering such terrible treatment breaks my heart. I am an oaf and a fool and I hurt you again._

_As for the gift, please keep it. I did say it was for a beautiful woman and there is no one more deserving of it than you. The necklace belongs around your slender throat. Keep it as a small form of apology._

_Do not worry that we will meet again. I intend to return to Africa as soon as possible. You have my word that I will take your secrets to the grave. I have failed you in every other way, but in this I will not disappoint you, Loki. I hope Mr. Talbot is worthy of you and that you are happy in the future. You deserve nothing less._

_Sincerely,_

_Thor Odinson_

Hand at his throat, Loki read on, trying to contain his warring emotions. Thor had apologized, very eloquently, and his frail heart cried out to forgive him. His good sense, on the other hand, argued loudly that this was the second time the man had seriously wronged him in as many months. They hardly knew each other and yet they had become so entangled. It would be better for both of them if he and Thor never saw one another again.

When he saw that Odinson meant to leave, though, his whole body went cold. No, Thor could not go back to Africa, or wherever he meant to roam, no. Even though he had only just been thinking how dangerous their relationship was, Loki could not stand the idea that he might never again look into those stormy blue eyes again and feel his heart skip. Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Loki threw himself out of his chair and began pacing. Odinson could not go, not now that they had found each other.

_Found each other?_ Stopped by the madness of that thought, Loki paused. Gripping his hair in his hands, he groaned. What was he to do? His heart and his judgment were suddenly diametrically opposed. In these cases, good sense ought to win out. He was being ridiculous! _Found each other..._ Exhaling through his nose, Loki calmed himself. It wasn’t necessary to make a decision right that very moment, he assured himself. Snap judgments always went badly. Bath would be a perfect excuse to let Odinson cool his heels while Loki thought things through. A little space would let him think more clearly. Caution was the watchword of the day.

He sent a note to Lady Sif and her cousin, informing them he would go to Bath and had Darcy post it before contacting a solicitor to rent a home for him. While planning the trip, Loki took a pear from the box and pressed it gently to his lips. He breathed in the scent of the pear and thought of the way Odinson’s lips looked that day in the study. Should he let Odinson leave?

He took a deep breath, staring at the little elephant and the beautiful necklace that came with it. It made Loki hurt, physically, to see it. It had been such a perfect day and he could still recall how deeply he had wished to be kissed. Of course, he still remembered how agonizing Odinson’s words had been. Could Loki forgive him? Perhaps Odinson _had _meant only to warn him. 

Biting at his thumb, Loki read the letter again and stroked the ivory beads with his other hand. Holding the necklace in his cupped hands, Loki tried to make up his mind.

*

Two days following, Loki and the majority of London’s high society departed London in all haste. They were chased away by mounting stories of influenza deaths. Everyone had been advised to bring as few servants with them as possible to reduce chances of bringing the specter of illness along. The matter of Lord Odinson still remained for Loki to untangle. 

Concerned that all the good rentals might have been let, Loki had sent Darcy ahead to ensure they were properly housed and the place aired when he arrived. That meant he had to travel alone, which was irritating, but necessary.

A hired man loaded his trunk and bag onto the top of the coach and then loaded Loki with only slightly more care. Dressed in his second best traveling suit, a white lace blouse and black walking skirt with a smart coat and a sensible hat, Loki watched as London was left behind. Breathing a sigh of relief, he took out a book of poetry and settled in for a long trip. It rained on and off once they were north of the city and Loki could see black clouds ahead of them. The damp, uneven road made the carriage jostle terribly, but Loki did his best to think of the delights of Bath in store for him and not the disappointments of London behind.

***

He had made up his mind to return to Africa after reading Loki’s letter. She had wanted to return the ivory elephant and necklace. An ice pick had lodged in his heart when he read her reasoning. Gods forgive him for making such a stunning woman think she was anything less than beautiful, for he would never forgive himself. He deserved to live alone in the wilderness away from polite society. Clearly he was not to be trusted around genteel people like Loki. Maybe it would be better if the Odinson line died out, anyway.

He began to write up his lists for what he wanted to do with his possessions; take, sell, and keep. When Mr. Long came to tell him about lunch, the butler spotted his work and frowned. For a long moment the older man seemed to consider his words while Thor continued to work.

“My lord,” Long said carefully. “You are planning to leave England again…so soon?”

Shrugging, Thor told him, “I do not belong here. It was a mistake to come back.”

“If I may be so bold,” Long ventured. “I thought you were planning to find a wife.”

“That is too bold, Long,” Thor said, but he was not irritated. Sighing, he admitted, “But yes, I was thinking of settling down, but that has changed. Don’t worry, Long, you will still have your position. I will pay you a year’s wages to keep the London house in order. After a year, I will revisit the issue. Perhaps I will come back, I do not know.”

Clearing his throat, Long said, “Have you…told Lady Gertrude?”

Thor barked a mirthless laugh, “Now that will be the true test. The old girl will be furious, I know. But still, I cannot stand being here any longer.”

“Very well, my lord,” Long said quietly as he bowed his way out of the study.

Thor spent several hours making the first arrangements for his travels. The next ship leaving from London to Southern France was in a week, which did not give him much time. He paid extra to cable a solicitor in Nice with instructions to find him a ship travelling from there to any port in Africa. Honestly, he had not given much thought to his adventures beyond getting away from England. Perhaps he would try his luck in India, but he would sort that out later.

When he returned from his visit to the docks, he was displeased to see a familiar carriage parked beside the house. Aunt Gertrude had come unannounced. It had occurred to Thor before now that Long might be informing his aunt on his dealings, but now he was certain. Long had served the family for decades, since his father was a young man. It made sense that Long would have formed a connection with Gertrude when she was in charge of his estate while Thor was in Africa. Still, it was rather irritating to be tattled on like a naughty child. Steeling himself for the confrontation to come, Thor entered the house and was greeted by Long, who looked sheepish.

“Your lady aunt is here to see you, my lord,” Long said nervously.

“So I gathered.”

Gertrude was sitting in the parlour, her back ramrod straight and her hands folded over the ivory head of her cane as she scowled into the fire. Looking over her shoulder, she glared at him with her blue eyes, but she did not speak. Sighing, Thor knew this would be a serious conversation.

“Hello, Auntie,” he greeted with forced brightness. “What brings you by today?”

Harrumphing, she said tartly, “I hear you are planning to leave the country again.”

“Yes, I was just looking to book passage to France,” Thor told her, seeing no reason to deny it.

“So, you are just going to up and leave again,” she demanded. “You said you were going to find a wife, Thor. You are the last member of the family. If you run off to Africa again and die without an heir, the family line dies with you. You have a duty to continue the family.”

Dropping onto the chair across from her, Thor said, “I know that, Aunt Gertrude, but I do not want to stay in London.”

“You know they are going to close the port with the influenza outbreak,” she pointed out through thin lips. No, Thor had not, but now that she had said it, he knew she was probably right. Seeing his face fall, she asked, “What are you running from, Thor?”

“Why must I be running from something?”

Rolling her eyes, Gertrude retorted, “My dear boy, when you lost your family, you were gone in mere months and you stayed away for years.” When Thor let his head drop, she asked, “So, what are you running from?”

“I…I have behaved poorly and I believe things would be better if I left,” he admitted.

Narrowing her eyes, Gertrude said, “Is this about that Frenchwoman?”

“Oh very well,” Thor huffed. “I suppose there is no reason to lie. Yes, this is about Madame Melusine.”

Gertrude gave a small, amused snort, “Slighted her, did you? You certainly fuelled the gossip.”

“I did, and I regret it,” Thor admitted tiredly. “I said something terrible to her, in public. My words were poorly chosen and my meaning was misconstrued. Her face, auntie…She was heartbroken. She forgave me for my first infraction, but this, I do not think I can earn her forgiveness again.”

Her dark grey brow arched as she asked, “Do you have feelings for the woman?”

“I, gods, Auntie,” Thor groaned. “I do not know, but I know I hate myself for hurting her.”

“And now you are just going to go hide in the African bush?”

Slumping back in his chair, Thor moaned, “I am not hiding. I am just – just going elsewhere. Africa is less complicated. And really, would you not prefer that to my pursuing a woman you called a harlot?”

The cane came down on his knee hard and Thor yelped as she snapped, “Are you as thick as a castle wall, boy? If you are as enchanted by that woman as you seem, you ought to go after her. At least she is not some sort of scullery maid.” Thor burst into a shocked laugh, and she told him seriously, “At least I can rest easy knowing she isn’t after your money.”

“What caused this sudden change of heart?” Thor asked warily, sensing a trap.

Shaking her head, his aunt said, “Well, you’ve forced my hand, haven’t you? If my options are seeing the end of the family line while you play Sir Richard Burton in Africa or see you married to a French tart, what can I do? At least she has money. You’ve already damaged your reputation, Lord knows.”

Laughing wryly, Thor told her, “Auntie, who knew you were such a romantic.” Shaking his head, Thor turned serious, “Aunt Gertrude, Loki is not after any part of me,” Thor told her glumly. “Any chance of gaining her affection is long gone now.”

Poking him in the ribs, she snapped, “Honestly, Thor. I thought you were raised better than that! Are you really giving up like this?”

“Giving up?” Thor repeated with complete confusion.

“If you are really this distraught over the woman, you had best go get her,” Gertrude told him matter-of-factly. Giving the floor a brisk tap with her cane before continuing, “I’ve never seen you this infatuated by a woman and, knowing you, if you do not pursue this, you will spend the rest of your days sulking in the jungles like some wild man.” 

Defensively, Thor rejoined, “I enjoy exploring, it isn’t sulking. Loki has met another man and, after what I said, she would never have me.”

“Not with that attitude,” she shrilled. “Lord save me, Thor, you are the most stubborn person I have ever met! I have never seen you slink away from a challenge. Perhaps the woman will refuse you, but you must at least try. You can ford a river never seen before by man, but you cannot pluck up the courage to woo a woman you are obviously taken with.”

“A hungry lion would be easier to face than Madame Melusine, after what I said,” Thor lamented tiredly. 

Rolling her eyes, Gertrude said, “Honestly, Thor, don’t be dramatic. If half the talk is true, the woman is as taken with you as you are of her. I heard about the way you two have been carrying on lately.”

“You do not know what I said, auntie,” Thor said with shame. “The words came out wrong and it sounded as if I called her something hideous. It was terrible. I wrote her an apology, but she ignored me, not that I blame her.”

“A letter,” she clarified dryly. “You think a single letter would be enough to fix that? If your mistake was that egregious, you cannot expect her to forgive you so easily. Go and speak with her, you foolish boy. If she refuses you outright, then come home, and we will reconsider your future,” Gertrude told him in an almost motherly tone. Shaking her head, she sighed, “And whatever comes, it will not involve you hiding in the jungle!”


	10. Three of Swords (Art)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Art
> 
> Again, I'm open for art and writing commissions!

height="900" />


	11. The Two of Cups

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a castle, a storm, and some long overdue confessions. 
> 
> The Two of Cups:
> 
> UPRIGHT: Unified love, partnership, mutual attraction  
REVERSED: Self-love, break-ups, disharmony, distrust.

The trip to Bath was uneventful and uncomfortable. The weather was grey and rainy, making the roads uneven and full of potholes; he had been jostled the whole ride. Loki was very glad to see the city on the horizon after a full day of being rattled like a tambourine. His backside was sore and his spine aching when he finally toppled from the carriage in front of his rented house.

The house Darcy had found was smaller than Loki would have liked, but considering the situation, he was not going to complain. It was at least only a block away from the Royal Crescent and some of the more fashionable places. The house was warm and clean, and that was about all he could ask for after the race for the lettings in Bath. It was obvious why they were letting the place so cheaply; it was still decorated in the restrained, classical style of seventy years ago. Not that Loki minded, the Georgian style was more to his taste anyway. The best bedroom faced the front of the house with a view of the green across the street.

Darcy welcomed him into the foyer with a big grin. The entry floor was a black and white marble chequerboard pattern with pale blue walls and white woodwork. There were two proper bedrooms, a parlour, and a small dining room. It was not ideal for hosting, but that was not a problem for Loki. He preferred to be a guest anyway.

Considering how nice the place was, despite the outdated decor and small size, Loki had a suspicion that Darcy must have called in some favours or threatened someone to get it. There were many reasons he had hired Darcy Lewis and this was certainly one of them. Pleased with herself, his capable housekeeper quickly bundled Loki upstairs for a soak to warm up after the cold ride from London. Then, after a fortifying lunch, Loki took a nap before dealing with his social calendar.

Despite the trouble in London, the elite of the kingdom were eager to return to their Season of frolic and fancy. Loki already had three invitations to dinners and balls and parties. The paper Darcy gave him mentioned, on the fourth page below the fold, that several of the elite had been obliged to hire locals to fill in their ranks as many of their servants had taken ill and been left in London. Illness clung to people like mud and Loki suspected Bath would soon find more than dirt tracked in on the heels of the Londoners. He could only hope it would, instead, be spared.

Until the illness appeared in the city, or it faded in London, the elite were expected to go on as if nothing were amiss. Loki could have chosen some place in the country to wait out the sickness, that would probably have been safer, but then he would have lost his place in the social order. It was tiring to be constantly entertaining, honestly, but it was better than sitting at home, alone, waiting for the demon to come back. After wading through the rest of his mail, Loki found a letter from Henry Talbot; it was short, but friendly, and included an invitation to a picnic with his cousin on the day following.

That invitation _did _interest Loki, and not just because he was excited to see Henry again. Now that they were in the country, Sif had planned for a long ride out to an old castle and then a picnic in the ruins. It promised to be an enjoyable afternoon, as he adored riding. He also knew Sif would ask people of their social circle that were accomplished equestrians, so they would be free to ride hard. Exercise and fresh air would do wonders for Loki’s gloomy mood, and he eagerly penned an acceptance.

*

The day of the picnic was bright and clear, and Loki was eager to be in the saddle. They met at a stable on the west of town to find horses. The steeds on offer were good, if not exactly the most attractive. It was a group of about twelve people, plus a few servants. It was a good party, though Loki knew a few of them were not as skilled of riders as Lady Sif and himself. Still, there were enough of them to have a race or two. In his best green riding habit, Loki looked over the crowd to find Henry, but the first man he saw was Lord Odinson. Loki felt the color drain from his face as his heart sank into his boots. Forcing his expression into a serene mask, Loki turned his back on the man before he could notice anything amiss. Lady Sif caught his eye and whispered something to Victoria, who quickly hurried over to him.

“Ah, Loki,” Victoria intoned anxiously. She gave Loki a friendly, if strained, smile as they exchanged kisses. “Lady Sif did not know Lord Odinson was attending. He came late last night and they are old friends. She could not uninvite him.”

Lifting his chin, Loki said, “Oh, I am not concerned, my dear.” Wrinkling his nose, Loki laughed lightly, “Lord Odinson can go where he likes. I do not care, nor do I begrudge Lady Sif her friendship,” he told her airily.

“Are you sure,” Victoria asked. “Lady Sif is very fretful about causing you distress.”

“Nonsense,” Loki shrugged. “Are we children who cannot be civil in public? I came to ride and picnic, he is but one man in a large party.”

Smirking, Victoria suggested slyly, “And, did you not come to flirt with a certain handsome American?” When Loki grinned, she said in a Sotto voce whisper_,_ “He does look very dashing in his new riding coat. I think he bought it just to impress you.”

Catching Sif’s eyes, Loki favoured her with a bright smile so that she knew he was not bothered by the presence of Lord Odinson. Relieved, Sif smiled back and waved to them. At her elbow, Henry doffed his hat to Loki with a mischievous smirk. Clapping her hands to get everyone’s attention, Sif waited for their silence.

“Are we all ready to set out?” she asked. The group gave a polite hurrah and Sif ordered, “Well then, let’s mount up.”

As stable hands brought out the horses, a voice at Loki’s shoulder said, “Miss Loki, may I help you up?”

Turning, Loki saw it was Henry who offered his hand, which he happily accepted. Henry was tall and strong, more than capable of hoisting Loki up into the saddle with little effort. Blushing, he settled into his seat and straightened his skirts. Before letting his hand drop, Henry swiftly brushed his lips against Loki’s gloved fingers. 

“Thank you, Henry,” Loki purred sweetly.

Tipping his hat, the American stepped back and said, “Of course, Miss Loki. I’m glad you could come…despite a certain gentleman,” he added, throwing Odinson a dark look.

“How could I resist such an invitation?” Loki asked with a smile as he adjusted his hat.

Henry opened his mouth to speak, but Lady Sif called, “Mount up, Henry. The day is leaving us behind.”

With the party mounted, they all cheerily followed Lady Sif out into the countryside on horseback. As soon as they were through the gate, Victoria brought her mare up to Loki’s left elbow and moments later, Henry took the place on his right. Though it was not said aloud, it was obvious they were blocking Odinson from coming too close and repeating his antics from the ball. Thor—Lord Odinson!—had apologized, but he was still unsure of how he felt about the man. At the moment, he did not want to think about anything but the bright sunshine and Henry’s smile.

The plan was to ride for an hour out into the countryside to the ruins of a medieval castle on a small hill where they would picnic. They would explore the castle and ride leisurely around the area for a few hours and before adjourning to Bath for a night of dinner, dancing, and cards. Loki was actually looking forward to it. Considering how many venues would be open it would be unlikely that Odinson would be at the same event as Loki, so he could relax.

The day was bright and warm, the light breeze playing with his hair as they trotted along and Loki tried to forget about the handsome lord riding behind him. Closing his eyes for a moment, he breathed in a deep breath of clean air and let his head tip back to show a smile to the robin’s egg coloured sky above them. Unbeknownst to Loki, the sunlight gilded his face, making his pale skin glow and his dark hair shine under his hat. 

“I am excited to see these ruins,” Victoria commented blithely, happy to orchestrate some conversation between her friend and his suitor. “What a fine idea for a picnic.”

Turning his smile over to her, Loki agreed, “I love such places. They are full of mystery. There are so many stories held in those old stones.”

“You are a secret romantic,” Henry teased gently, his grin bright.

Loki shrugged delicately and cast him a playful smirk, “I have read my fair share of Lord Byron, I admit.”

“Loki, you _would_ love Byron,” Victoria laughed.

The three joked and laughed as they rode, the rest of the party breaking up into little groups like theirs. Loki did not look around, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge Lord Odinson. He was determined to enjoy the day to spite him. Henry and Victoria seemed to sense his intentions and did their best to keep Loki distracted and entertained. At times, others ventured near and joined their conversation for a time before wandering off again.

Eventually the party arrived at the ruins of the castle, which sat upon a low, green hill like a fat cat on a comfortable ottoman. It had not been a large castle at the height of its power and now the walls were half tumbled down. Large blocks of broken architecture lay strewn about in what used to be the courtyard. An arched gateway still stood and the riders met and dismounted there. In the cool shade of the wall, the servants set out the blankets and baskets for the picnic.

Now that they were all in close proximity, Loki could not avoid seeing Lord Odinson, who sat on the blanket next to his. Though Henry and Victoria sat close and chatted energetically, Loki’s eyes kept returning to Odinson’s handsome face. Every time he looked, those blue eyes were on him, his face serious and a bit wan. Unlike the rest of the group, Odinson seemed disinclined to talk and joke, his mood reserved. Lady Sif sat beside him with another gentleman, but both had given up trying to coax the lord from his thoughts. Loki had to wonder why he had bothered to come.

After eating, they all wandered about in small groups, exploring the castle and surrounding ruins. Always curious and inquisitive, Loki poked into every hole and corner, excited to learn every secret of the castle. Though much of the stonework was in shambles, the outline of the buildings remained enough that they could imagine how grand the place must have been. The only part still standing was the chapel, though two towers were partially upright.

“I read that the lady of the castle murdered her first husband, so she could marry the lord,” Henry told Loki and Victoria as they wandered.

Tracing his hand along the rough stone wall, Loki asked, “I take it she was caught, eventually?”

“The guide book said she strangled him and burned him in the kitchen’s oven,” he said in the tone people used to spook children at bedtime.

Victoria asked incredulously, “She strangled a man by herself?”

“No, there were some men involved, and they think the lord was in on it.”

Snorting, Victoria laughed, “She must not have been very clever.”

“Poison would have been so much easier, and they probably would never have known she had killed him,” Loki commented offhandedly. 

Loki was so intent on his exploration that he all but ignored Henry, captivated by the mystery of the ruins. In the chapel, they found a few treasures that completely captured Loki’s imagination. On one wall were the remains of a mural of Saint George and the dragon. Henry’s guide book said it was painted in the 15th century.

“How wonderful,” Loki sighed. “That something so fragile could last so long.”

“I found the crypt,” the American called excitedly as he waved them over.

Victoria was hesitant, but Loki hurried to explore, unafraid to see what the castle might be hiding. The crypt was low and dank, but the wall was open enough that they could see in without aid. Inside were a group of empty lead coffins. Intrigued, Loki pushed inside to look more closely. Some of the coffins had faces and two seemed to have breasts. Chillingly, among the number were two tiny coffins, obviously for infants. 

“Ah, Loki, please come out,” Victoria called nervously. “This is too macabre!”

Waving over his shoulder, Loki huffed, “There is nothing to fear. Just lead and bones.”

“Isn’t that enough,” his friend rejoined tremulously. 

With a dark chuckle, Loki eventually withdrew, returning to his friends and the sunlit world. After that, Loki wandered away from the other two when they were distracted. On his own, he discovered the marble tomb effigies of what looked like a married couple depicted in the fashion of the Elizabethan period, Loki guessed. They were beautifully sculpted and Loki found himself enthralled by the skill of the artist. He wondered if the couple had cared for each other or if it was just aesthetics.

Startled by the scuff of a boot, Loki jumped and looked up. On the other side of the small room was Lord Odinson who looked like a child caught in the pantry. For a long moment they stared at each other with the tombs between them. In the silence, Loki clutched the edge of the lady’s tomb, unable to think of anything to say. 

Nodding at the effigies, the lord asked him, “It’s rather romantic, don’t you think? Being together even in death,” he said as though reaching for something to say.

“I… I suppose,” Loki responded. “It sounds like something Poe would write.”

With a weak smile, Odinson nodded in agreement and quickly excused himself. 

Wanting to distance himself from the strange encounter, Loki rejoined Henry and Victoria who were poking around the remains of the south-west tower. According to Henry and his book, one lady of the castle had been cruelly imprisoned there by her husband for being the relative of someone who had lost favour with the king. Loki felt for the poor lady. The tower was just a tall drum with three levels judging by the narrow arrow slit windows. No floors remained, and only part of the wall, but Loki could imagine how cramped and cold it would have been.

The afternoon passed in pleasant, sunny play. One of the ladies had brought a novel and read a chapter while they drank more lemonade in the shade. It was not very well written and Loki spent the time whispering scathing comments to Victoria and Henry in the back. When everyone grew bored of the ruins, they mounted up again. Sif urged them all to go searching for some older ruins, reputedly nearby the castle, which dated from the twelve hundreds. 

They had been ambling around the countryside for over two hours before the sky began to cloud over. This was England, after all, and they should have expected the weather to turn, as it so often did. Still, they were caught in the sudden downpour of a summer shower. The rain was fairly warm, but none of them were inclined to sit in the wet and the mud. In the short time it took for all of them to collect their things and mount up, the weather had worsened, the rain coming down harder. It was utter chaos as the group fled from the hilltop.

Perhaps they could have sheltered in the ruins, but in the moment of panic, none of the fine, gently bred aristocrats thought to do so. Like their horses, the riders fell back on the instinct to run for home. In any case, the castle was a mouldering pile of stones and would not be at all comfortable. There was certainly not enough space for all of them. Like startled hens, they all fled in different directions and none chose to shelter there.

In only moments, the storm escalated until it was a proper gale that blacked out the sky and bent the trees over ruthlessly. The wind howled and beat at them like a living thing as they raced for safety. The castle was far from Bath and there was no place nearby to take shelter. As bone shaking thunder rolled across the landscape, the group became separated as some of their horses were startled into a gallop.

Loki was a gifted rider, but the gelding he had rented was unfamiliar and not trained to the standards of a truly fine mount. The horse under him screamed and bolted after a powerful crash of thunder. Even from his position in the saddle, Loki could see the whites of the horse’s rolling eyes as the beast tossed its head in terror and carried him off the road. Blinded by the driving rain, Loki clung to the mane of his horse and tried to regain the mount’s head as he was born away from his friends.

In only a few minutes, he had managed to gain control, but as he squinted against the rain, Loki realized he could not recognize where he was. Under the dark sky and lashed by rain, he could not make out anything that seemed familiar and the road was out of sight. Lightning split the sky in two, turning the half drowned landscape as bright as daylight for a moment, but Loki still could not locate the road.

On another flash of lightning, Loki spotted a shape that looked like a stone wall. On instinct, he turned the horse’s head towards the unfamiliar building and his mount quickly moved towards it without needing to be commanded. Horse and rider both wanted shelter and would take what they could get. As they came closer, Loki realized it was the tumbled down church they had passed on the way there.

With relief, he pulled his mount up to stop just outside the front of the church and dismounted before leading the gelding inside. Thankfully, the tiled roof was partly intact and offered some shelter from the storm. Soaked through and shivering, Loki did what he could to make his poor horse comfortable by removing his saddle and bridle. There was dry grass growing in what used to be the galley that Loki used to rub the horse down. When his mount was settled, Loki moved around the inside of the church, collecting bits of tinder.

Despite his elegant facade, Loki had lived rough before and he was perfectly capable of making a fire without help. There was a mouldering rafter nearby that Loki could kick apart for firewood. He pulled aside a broken flagstone to reveal a depression in the earth where he could safely build a fire. Quickly, he piled the dead grass, twigs, and bits of rafter into the shallow hole. Leaning down, Loki blew out a long, steady breath that shimmered like a heat haze. After a few moments, the tinder caught and a fire quickly rose up.

Before Loki could consider what he ought to do next, the sound of swift hoof beats came from outside the church. Frowning, Loki waited for whoever it was to enter. Praying that whoever was coming was honourable, Loki tried to straighten his sodden clothes and lifted his chin defiantly. Another heartbeat later, a large silhouette appeared in the uneven doorway, a bolt of lightning striking behind him, and a second later Lord Odinson entered.

“Loki, are you alright?” he asked, his face dark with concern.

Embarrassed, Loki wrung the hem of his wet coat and mumbled, “Yes, I am fine. Why are you here?”

“I saw your horse bolt,” Odinson explained as he hovered at the door, the lashing rain at his broad back. “I was worried you might have been thrown. I saw the firelight.”

***

Though he had come in search of Loki, Thor was not prepared to find her so suddenly. Soaked and cold, he stood awkwardly in silence, unsure of what he should do as Loki seemed wet, but otherwise fine. His act of gallantry now seemed a bit ridiculous. Flushing despite the chill, he gripped his belt and coughed.

Loki’s face might have been carved from white jade, it was so cool and blank. She told him flatly, “I am fine, my lord. Thank you for your concern.”

Chafing his icy hands together, Thor blew on them before replying, “Good, I was afraid you had fallen and broken your neck.”

Looking around at the darkened interior of the church, Thor frowned and hugged himself. His clothes were clinging to him uncomfortably and goosebumps riddled his skin. Loki sat by the fire, her eyes shadowed and gleaming and Thor was not sure what kind of welcome he might receive. Moving towards the fire, Thor held out his hands to warm his icy fingers.

“May I stay?” he asked sheepishly. “Or should I wander back out into the storm?”

With a one-sided shrug, Loki said, “I can hardly turn you away.” 

It was not the warmest welcome, but it could have been worse. 

Clearing his throat, Thor tried, “It’s so cold… It was wise of you to build a fire.” His tone was cajoling as he hoped she would take the hint. When she did not respond, Thor turned up the charm and tried again, “Will you not have mercy on a poor beggar?” 

Her face softened slightly and Loki’s shoulders drooped before she spoke, “Do not be dramatic. It does not suit you.” Shaking her head in exasperation, she said, “You can stay warm with the horses.”

“Thank you,” he said, shamefaced, leading his own mount over to stand by Loki’s gelding.

Rolling her eyes, Loki said tartly, “I could not leave a poor creature outside in this rain.”

The silence hung between them as Thor saw to his horse. Loki remained at the fire, slowly feeding it more dry grass. When Thor turned back he saw that she was peeling out of her wet coat, which she hung on a rough knob of rock sticking out from the wall. Black tresses clung to her back, the rain having washed her hair out of its neat bun. Even dishevelled and wet, Loki was still beautiful, and Thor could not help remembering how fine she had looked when he had last seen her smile.

“This is not going to let up any time soon,” she told him as she began unbuttoning her blouse and tried to hang it on the rough wall. Seeing her undress, Thor made a shocked noise and Loki’s lips twitched into a thin smile. Shrugging gracefully, she said, “Pragmatism over propriety in times of crisis. You can freeze, but I shan’t.”

Surprised that she would so casually disrobe in front of him, Thor politely averted his gaze to dig in the saddle bag he had slung over his shoulder. He had stuffed one of the picnic blankets into the bag when they had fled the rain and now he was grateful for it. He gave a small clearing of his throat, holding the quilt up to shield her and offered it to her for modesty. Though he tried to avoid looking, he still caught a flash of her white chemise and tan corset.

“Thank you,” she said quietly as she wrapped herself in the blanket.

Sitting on an upturned flagstone by the fire, Loki leaned over and began wringing out her wet hair without looking at Thor. The quilt hung from her pale shoulders. In the firelight, it was difficult to tell, but Thor thought she was blushing.

Rather than continue to stare at her, Thor removed his jacket and waistcoat and set it aside. His undershirt was damp, but it would dry shortly. His trousers were soaked, but there was no way he would remove those in front of a lady. From beneath the quilt emerged a pair of long, slender legs as Loki first unlaced her boots and then peeled off her stockings to reveal smooth, white ankles and calves. Though he had once run his hands all the way up those lovely legs, Thor now refused to look at them, though it was horribly tempting.

Determined to be a gentleman, he turned aside and kicked off his own boots and set his socks to dry by the fire. Awkwardly he took a spot across from Loki. She fiddled with the hem of the blanket, avoiding his gaze. Thor shivered and hugged himself. It would be warmer under the quilt, sharing heat with Loki, but after his mistakes, Thor was not going to push his luck. If he froze, then it was divine retribution. 

After a few awkward minutes, Loki murmured, “You are cold...” Without further words, she lifted one arm to open the blanket in a silent peace offering.

Taking it for what it was, Thor came to sit beside her and tugged the blanket around his shoulders. It was a tight fit, but they both managed to get under the quilt once he moved to wrap his arm around her waist. The warmth was more than welcome, despite the painful awkwardness that squeezed between them. Still, Thor was glad for the chance to be alone with her. He hoped she felt the same. 

In a voice so quiet it barely rose above the crackling fire, Loki asked, “Did you mean it...? What you said about me?”

Of course, she was referring to the terrible things he had said to her. Letting out a tired sigh, Thor considered his answer carefully. It was not that he did not know the answer, but that he needed to explain himself properly. This might be his only chance to ease the pain he had caused her. Loki deserved a full explanation.

Shaking his head, Thor told her, serious, “No, I did not. Though I suppose that does little to lessen the sting. Did you receive my letter?”

“I did, but I did not know how to respond,” she admitted.

“That is fair,” Thor allowed. Rubbing at his beard, he said, “But Loki, I did not mean it the way you think. I only wanted to warn you against trusting Talbot too easily. I was too hasty and I hurt you when I wanted only to protect you.”

What could he possibly say? There was no way to unsay his words or make Loki un-hear them. Outside, the wind continued to howl and moan through the ruins of the church. The rain beat down on the rickety roof and several places leaked furiously. Above them, the lightning and thunder crashed loud enough to make the building quake.

“What can I do to make things right?” he asked helplessly.

“I don’t know,” Loki murmured softly. “What you said…hurt me, more deeply than you can know. My heart broke.”

Again, silence settled between them like a wet cloak. Thor desperately wanted something to say. Loki kept her lips closed as she stared out into space. Her profile was cast in gold by firelight, strands of gold running through her dark curls. Her expression was distant, but sad.

Frowning into the small fire, Loki whispered, “My father thought medicine could fix me. He wanted a boy and that’s what he thought I was… Only, when I began to grow up, it became clear that I was not a boy, much to his sorrow. So he sent me to an asylum. They thought doctors could _teach _me to be a boy.” Swallowing hard, she told him, “They shore off my hair, and took away the hair combs and lace handkerchief that were my mother’s and burned them. They thought ice water and electrocution would make me a boy…”

“When I was fourteen, they decided I must be a deformed girl, so they swung around and tried to teach me to be a good, obedient young woman.” Her voice was small and pained. “I did not mind that so much. Girls are allowed to be soft and sensitive and pretty…though the electrocution was still used when I was ‘difficult’ or ‘disobedient.’ But they let my hair grow out and I could wear dresses… Eventually, they told me I was ready to go home and be a good girl, I just had to have an operation.” Rubbing at her wet eyes and sniffing, she finished, “They were going to cut me to make me ‘normal.’ I escaped and ran away to Paris.”

Thor closed his eyes against the horror. It was obvious why Loki had told him this; she wanted to be sure he truly understood why his words had hurt her. In their past conversations, Loki had alluded to a dark and unhappy past, but he had never imagined anyone could be so cruel to a child. It was not her fault that she was different and cutting her apart like a hog at the butchers would not change that. The barbarity of it! 

His mind was full of images of a tiny waif with huge green eyes and black hair being tormented by men in white coats. How helpless Loki must have felt and all in the name of medicine. What sort of parent could subject a child to such cruelty? He wanted to console and protect Loki, but it was not his place.

“I know you think me a scoundrel and a cad for not calling on you when I returned. I allowed others to talk me out of it. It was weak and foolish,” Thor told her earnestly. “In truth, I very much enjoyed your company that day in the garden... and our time the night before, despite the less pleasant moments.”

She did not look at him, but the corner of her mouth twitched in a ghost of a smile. Thor wanted to make her smile again like she had in his garden. When she seemed to be waiting for him to say more, Thor tugged at the quilt. What sort of magic did women use to compel men to talk themselves into a noose? Even seeing the trap, Thor forged ahead.

“When I saw you with that _cowboy_, I was angry,” he admitted. He might have said jealous—and it would have been correct—but he could not bring himself to say that word just yet. Pushing his wet hair out of his face, Thor said, “I considered us friends and when you ignored me, it felt as though you had cast me aside.”

Loki snorted, “You slighted me first, turning up with another lady on your arm.”

“That was not my finest moment,” Thor allowed, contritely. “And I will say again, I am very sorry and it was a terrible idea. Truly, I had convinced myself that you would not mind. Now I see it was foolish, but I really had no intention of giving up your friendship.”

Unhappily, Loki regarded Thor with sharp eyes, asking, “Why would you be angry that I allowed another man to attend me? You were escorting Lady Charlotte and could not give me your time,” she pointed out a little coldly. “You had snubbed me before that day, you even admitted it.”

“Because...” Thor struggled to find the words to vindicate himself. Sighing, he went on, “I do not trust him, Talbot. You must know that I accept your differences. I do not care. Do you think _he_ will?” He demanded with more fervour than he had intended. Feeling Loki shrink away from his side, he changed his tone to a more gentle one as he asked, “If he knew the truth, do you really think he would still pursue you? Do you think you would be safe with him?”

Turning her face away, Loki said quietly, “I hardly know him. How could I find out without getting to know him better?”

“Loki, I must be blunt. I cannot believe a man like that would stand by you. I saw how he looked at you,” Thor told her hotly. “He wants you for indecent reasons, madam. I fear that if you find yourself alone with him, he will take liberties and discover your secret. You must know how some men think of widows. That American thinks you are a low-hanging fruit.”

He felt her demeanour change, turning ice-cold, she scoffed, “As you did that night in my parlour? Do you really feel you have the right to pass judgment on a man you hardly know?”

“I have begged your forgiveness for that and I will do so again,” Thor told her earnestly. Letting his head tilt back, he sighed, “Despite the curse, I will not try to excuse my behaviour. But, I will stand by my assessment of Talbot.”

The indignation bled out of Loki as she asked sadly, “Should I retire from society and live in seclusion in the country because I have been widowed young?” Looking at her face out of the corner of his eye, Thor could see her loneliness in her eyes as she whispered, “I was only married a year, I have no children… I am only twenty-three. Am I to never know love?”

Her words might as well have been a slap to the face, Thor felt them so keenly. Of course, he wanted to tell her she deserved love, but it was hardly his place. It would sound hollow and cheap from his lips, and he knew it. Loki was always so bright and social, it had never occurred to Thor that she might be suffering from a deep loneliness. She had once described herself as separated from her peers and seen as entertainment. What a fool he was.

As if recalling her earlier indignation, Loki demanded, “How can you know what is in Mr. Talbot’s heart or mind? I have no intention to form a real attachment to Henry, though I am not wholly against it.”

What Loki said was fair and reasonable. It was not at all uncommon for someone so young to remarry, particularly when there was a fortune and no children to complicate things. Though, in Loki’s case, Thor was not at all certain she could have children. It felt a little cruel to think like that, but her body was not like other women’s. Still, it rankled him to hear her speak well of the smarmy American.

Grunting irritably, he insisted, “He can hardly provide you with the life you are accustomed to, Loki. The man is little better than a cowhand. What sort of future would you have? Do you really want to move to America and live on a ranch fighting off bandits and herding cows?”

“Why should he not remain in Europe?” Loki snapped, her accent thicker in her anger. Throwing back her wet hair, she said briskly, “He needs money and status and I can provide that. A good fortune can make up for a great number of faults…”

Thor laughed bitterly, “What of _his _faults? You would really turn your fortune over to some penniless Don Juan? Isn’t it obvious that he came all this way looking for money, either from his family or from a rich wife?”

“So what if he is looking for a wealthy match? There are few blessed with your sort of wealth. He might be a cowboy, but he makes me smile,” Loki told him fiercely. “And what are you but a wealthy Don Juan? You may not need money, but were you not just chasing a wealthy heiress the other day, and me before that?”

Feeling rather ill-used, Thor contended, “I never promised you anything but my friendship. You cannot accuse me of leading you down a primrose path. If you want to end our acquaintance, I have already said I will respect that.” Warming to his subject, he argued, “You scold me for escorting Lady Charlotte, but she is a respectable young woman. Unlike your American, she would make an excellent spouse and mother.”

Seemingly repulsed by his nearness, Loki threw off the blanket and stormed to the far side of the fire. In her anger, she did not seem to care that she was barely clothed, but Thor’s eyes were drawn to her slender waist and graceful neck. White fingers held a death grip on the fabric of her petticoat as she trembled in her fury. Then, as suddenly as the shift in the wind, Loki turned cold and still, her face sliding into a serenely detached expression.

“Lady Charlotte would be a very fine wife and mother,” Loki said, her voice utterly devoid of any feeling. “I never said you had promised anything; only that it appeared that way to outsiders. After showing me such favour, whatever the motives, escorting another lady when I came alone would cause unflattering talk which would fall on me,” she explained in that dangerously calm tone. “But, as you were escorting another, you had no right to be upset that I gave my interest to another man, particularly if you want only my friendship.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Thor said, “I am only concerned for your integrity. A man like that cannot love you. He certainly cannot be trusted to safeguard you.”

Several heartbeats passed in perfect stillness while the storm raged outside. Again, Loki seemed less like a human and more like some kind of otherworldly spirit as she held his gaze. Wild haired and snow-white, the firelight cast her in ethereal chiaroscuro. Though she remained calm, Thor thought he could see pain in her green eyes and his heart sank.

“Is it so difficult for you to imagine a man might be able to accept me as a woman?” Loki asked sadly. “Are my flaws really so disgusting? Just because you cannot stomach the thought of my body does not mean that no man can.”

Damn it. That had not been what he meant. It seemed as though every time he spoke to Loki, he said the exact wrong thing. He could, without trouble, imagine a man desiring her, even after finding out her secret. Gods help him, Thor desired her. His words must have cut her to the quick and rightly so, and he cursed himself again. What sort of monster told someone who had been so poorly treated in the past that they were unworthy of love simply because of the way they were born?

“Loki, please, hear me now,” Thor said seriously. “I think nothing of the sort. My qualms are not with you, but the gentleman. Since regaining my senses, have I given you any indication that I take issue with your body?” Letting out a deep sigh, he tried, “You must be freezing... Come back and sit down before you catch cold.” When she remained reticent, Thor stood and held out the quilt, saying, “Here, warm up. I will go find more wood for the fire.”

Relenting, Loki took the offered blanket and sat down. Rubbing at his arms, Thor wandered into the adjoining room, which might have been a side chapel at one point. There were some dead plants and rotting wood from fallen beams. When his arms were loaded with dry kindling, he dared to return to the fireside. Loki was still sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest, a stony look on her face. Rather than address the tension, he broke the bits of old pew up with his bare hands.

“He makes me smile,” she told the fire in that dangerously level voice.

Setting down his burden, Thor commented, “I made you smile, did I not? Talbot isn’t a good match for you, Loki. What kind of father would he be? If...eh, if you...”

Obviously stung, Loki told him, “I _can_ bear children, you know. More than one doctor has said so. Despite what you think, I am not so different from any other woman. And yes, you have made me smile,” she allowed grudgingly. “But unlike Henry, you have also humiliated me and been the cause of many of my tears.”

Before Thor could try to defend himself, Loki demanded furiously, “How can you so flippantly say he could never love me? Of the two of you, he has never torn off my clothes or called me an abomination. Why is it so difficult for you to imagine a man might love me, even knowing how I am?” she asked him, her eyes over-bright as her words plunged into his heart.

“I... Loki, I never meant—”

Rubbing angrily at her watering eyes, Loki went on, “Would some other man be more to your taste? Or would you prefer I remain in limbo?” She asked nastily. “Not your mistress, but no other man’s sweetheart? It is fine for you to court other women, but gods forbid I so much as look at another man!”

Flinching at the whip crack of her accusations, Thor hung his head and said, “I did not mean to imply... Oh, hell, I seem to only ever say the worst things when I talk to you. I never meant that. I just...don’t like that _American_.” Sitting down beside her, Thor wrapped his arms around himself, not wanting to ask for the blanket.

In his mouth, the words ‘I care for you’ pushed at his lips and demanded to be said, but Thor bit them back. He could not say such a reckless thing; not now, when he had hurt Loki so badly. It would look as though he was toying with her, only jealous that some other man had paid attention to her. Though his feelings were genuine, it felt too late to say anything without it sounding disingenuous. Surely Loki would be more furious with him for confessing now. If he had spoken up that day in his study, it would have been different, but he had missed his chance.

Without looking at him, Loki asked, “Why do you dislike Henry so much? What has he done to make you think he is unworthy? If it is not my secret that makes you question our chances, then why do you think he cannot love me?”

Closing his eyes, Thor pinched the bridge of his nose and dared to admit, “I... I do not know if he can love you... But, I do not want _you_ to love _him_. Do you? Love him, I mean?”

***

Heart pounding in his ears, Loki stared at Thor for what felt like ages. The storm roared in the echoing silence between them while the fire crackled in counterpoint. Thor’s earnest gaze pinned Loki to the spot while he gaped back at him. Breath coming in shallow gasps, Loki could only stare back. There was no way the man was asking what Loki thought he was.

“I do not know. I—I hardly know Henry,” Loki said honestly. “I do not understand. Do you want to pursue Lady Charlotte? If so, you can hardly dictate that I never entertain another man. I am not your mistress,” he reasoned bitterly.

Rubbing at his arms to warm himself, Thor stammered awkwardly, “Well, no, I would never presume! And damn Lady Charlotte. She means nothing to me!”

Irritated by the interruption, Loki snapped, “You say you do not want me to love Henry and you have no interest in Lady Charlotte… then why have you spurned me? You must know that I…that I am fond of you. Had you not turned from me, I would never have given Henry a second glance.”

Thor stared at him for a few long heartbeats before whispering, “Why? Why when I have treated you so abhorrently? Even if you could forgive me for what I did that night, I have continued to cause you distress. How can you still fancy me?”

It was a fair question, Loki had to admit. Good sense and pride would dictate that Loki shun Thor and avoid him like plague. And yet, despite that, Loki still felt drawn to him like a flower to the sun. Was it madness or a strange impulse to punish himself? That was not unreasonable to assume, but the memory of that day spent in Thor’s garden remained bright and warm in Loki’s heart. They did call love madness.

“Because…despite all that,” Loki said slowly, his words carefully thought out. “You could have ruined me, but you didn’t. It would not have been difficult for you to expose me in a way that saved your own reputation. In fact, that would have been the safest way to ensure I never brought charges against you,” he pointed out. “But you didn’t...”

Shaking his head, Thor argued, “That was the least I could do, Loki. I had no right to touch you like that and if I had not, I would never have learned your secret.”

Nodding haltingly, Loki agreed, “Yes, that’s true. But, after you found out, you did not treat me like a freak. You could have held your tongue and avoided me, or forced me to leave London quietly. Instead, you helped me when I was first attacked by the demon. Then you protected me when I was attacked again. You stayed with me, held me when I was hurting and terrified. You... You cannot imagine how much that meant to me,” Loki told him.

“I could not allow you to suffer alone,” Thor countered indignantly, clearly affronted by the very implication. Swallowing hard, Thor said in a haunted voice, “You were so frightened and you were bleeding. How could I leave you?”

Smiling wanly, Loki asked, “And that lunch in your garden, was that an act of charity born of pity as well? Does your sense of chivalry extend to gifts of rare ivory necklaces?” When Thor chuckled ruefully, Loki leaned a little closer and insisted, “Tell me you did not feel something that day.”

Loki’s hair was dry now and fell around his face in wild waves, making him look more like a witch, untamed and beautiful. In the firelight, his green eyes sparkled with hope. Thor’s eyes were half lidded as he regarded Loki, hunger flickering in their depths. Yes, Loki knew he was desired, but was that enough? His heart could not take another rejection.

“How can a woman like you possibly want me after what I’ve done? Loki, I stand by what I said about Talbot, but you could find a better man than me, as well. I do care for you, a great deal,” he blurted out, foolishly. “But somewhere there is a man who can love you for all that you are and who could never hurt you as I have.”

Bitterly, Loki laughed, “Somewhere? Where, pray tell, might I find this mythical man who is such a paragon of virtue and honour and yet can overlook my _flaws_,” he asked, the last word mutating into a snarl. “How many men do you think could accept what I am and how should I find them without exposing my secret?”

“As lovely and sophisticated and wealthy as you are, surely you can find a worthy beau. You are so popular,” Thor tried, as if hoping to placate his anger. 

The laugh that burst from Loki was as cold and brittle as an icicle, “Actresses are popular, my dear. Popularity does not equal acceptance or amity. I am allowed to be scandalous and bohemian because I _entertain_, but I am kept at arm’s length. The truth is, most of my so-called friends would be horrified by the truth of me, and I do not mean my body,” he told Thor with savage resentment, his eyes over-bright.

“That is a familiar song,” Thor sighed ruefully. “In Africa, I saw and did things the fine, upstanding people of the gentry could never imagine. They see an unkempt hedge and call it wild. They’ve no idea. Most of them cannot even face the wilds of Yorkshire, let alone the wider world.”

Smirking slyly, Loki said, “What I am, at my most free, does not frighten you.” Thor’s hand came to hover beside his face and Loki leaned into it, murmuring, “You do not understand how precious that is to me.” When Thor’s fingers brushed against Loki’s cheek, he grinned wickedly, saying, “I think you have a taste for wild things, my lord.”

“Indeed,” Thor agreed. “But I would say that I have rather more than just a taste for you. I care for you, Loki.” He was so close that his next words breezed over Loki’s lips, “May I kiss you, Madame? I won’t if you refuse me.”

Loki chuckled throatily, “Dear Thor, I have wanted you to kiss me since that day in your garden...”

With that, he reached up and pulled Thor’s face down to close the distance between their lips. The kiss burned like fine liquor and made his head spin. Sighing, Loki smiled dazedly back at Thor, his lips tingling. He reached up and tangled his fingers in Thor’s golden hair pulling him close to kiss him again. Finally, finally the rip tide that had been pulling them together was appeased. Something inside him that had long been aching was soothed. Relief flooded through him, making him reckless and giddy.

When they finally pulled away, just enough to breathe, Loki said, “Just think, if you had kissed me that day in your study, we could have avoided all this mess.”

“And what a fine mess it will be,” Thor sighed as he pulled Loki closer. “If we keep on like this, there will be talk. Or, more talk,” he corrected himself. “What will they say when we are seen out together?”

Pressing a kiss to Thor’s lips, Loki said, “You will be seen with me in public? Are you going to court me like a proper lady?”

“If you’ll have me,” he stipulated with a smile. “I want to do this properly. It’s what you deserve.”

“Eh,” Loki said, as if he was seriously considering the offer. “I suppose I can give you a sporting chance, my dashing lord.”

Turning solemn, Thor asked, “Are you going to see Talbot again?”

“I had meant to,” Loki admitted awkwardly. Licking his lips, he promised, “But I will break things off with him. It should not be too hard, we have only just become acquainted.”

Smiling, Thor said, “Good, because I do not want to share you.”

Turning serious, Loki said, “I will have you, Thor, you and no other, but on one condition. You must court me _openly_. I will not be your secret shame or your mistress. If I am to be yours, it will be honourably and respectably. I have a right to expect the same as any other lady. Can you promise me that? I will not be humiliated again.”

***

“Never. I was a fool. You have my word, Loki,” Thor swore earnestly. “If you are true to me, I will stand by you always.”

She smiled at him, and it was an open, genuine smile, one he intended to see often. It was a smile he knew Talbot could not hope to incite. Or, if he did, it was only because Loki did not see him for the grasping, shallow creature he was. Thor would make it his life’s work to make her smile like that every day. He had made his choice, and he would not waver again.

“I will court you openly, but no one can know about this,” he reminded her as he stroked Loki’s wild, black curls. “As soon as the rain ends and our clothes are dry, we must go our separate ways to Bath. Even your taste for scandal would be glutted if this story got out,” Thor worried as he toyed with the lacy edge of her chemise.

The firelight caressed Loki’s bare, white shoulder and Thor longed to follow it with his fingers and lips. In only her under things, her small breasts were on tempting display, almost begging to be cupped and kissed. Her waist was so narrow Thor was sure his hands could fit around it. Blood boiling with desire, Thor licked his lips and tried to remember that he was a gentleman.

Seeming to sense the direction of his thoughts, Loki flashed him a wicked grin, her eyes twinkling. Oh, but she was a tempting thing. Unable to resist that smirk, Thor pulled her close and kissed her again. When she tangled her fingers in his hair, Thor sighed in delight. She wanted him as badly as he desired her.

Breathing hard, Thor panted, “Madame, you are greatly testing my self-control.”

“Then we should stop kissing,” she challenged. Pulling back a little, she offered, “I have a deck of cards in my bag.”

Flopping back and dragging the blanket with him, Thor groaned, “The last time you read my cards, I ended up cursed. Ah -” he cried out when Loki smacked his thigh. Rolling away, he laughed, “While certain aspects of the curse would be helpful at the moment, I would prefer never to suffer that kind of misery again.”

“My cards did not curse you,” she argued as she hit him with her bag. “And I meant playing cards, you lumbering oaf!” Removing the deck from its pouch, she flicked several cards at his face, and said tartly, “I hope your skill in Snap exceeds your skills in wooing.”

Pressing his palms together, Thor pleaded, “Mercy! Have mercy!”

“Do I look like the Virgin Mary?” Loki asked, flicking her cards at him. 

“How sharp your tongue is, woman,” Thor exclaimed teasingly as he sat up and collected the cards she had thrown at him. Passing them back to Loki, he said, “I know you are a good witch, Madame. I was only joking. Forgive me, please.”

Rolling her eyes, Loki began shuffling the deck with surprising finesse. It was not out of character for her to be graceful, but it was a little surprising that such a fine lady could cut a deck like a professional dealer. Admiring her long fingers as they danced over the cards, Thor accepted the hand she gave him and checked them covertly. Not a bad hand. 

They spent another hour playing cards and bantering playfully. It was like their day spent at his house; everything was so easy between them. To think that he had nearly ruined everything with a few stupid words. Now that he was graced with it again, Thor knew he would never grow tired of seeing Loki’s bright smile. Thor even threw a game just to see her laugh, her head thrown back, green eyes sparkling. 

Wearing a dreamy smile, he admitted, “I am so glad you forgave me, Loki.”

“I am glad you were worthy of my giving it,” she answered warmly. Face turning solemn, she added, “But, if you treat me poorly again, there will not be another chance. I have hurt enough, Thor.”

Setting aside his cards, Thor hurried to grab her hands and swore, “I will not, Loki. I swear I will not.”

After another hour, the rain stopped and their clothes were dry enough to be worn again. Regretfully, Loki and Thor got dressed and tried to make themselves look respectable enough to be seen in public. With the weather, at least they had a good reason to look dishevelled. Loki sniffed at the rumpled state of her clothes and the dirt caked on her skirts and boots, but Thor thought she looked wild and lovely. 

“We should not be seen together like this,” Thor said as he went to fetch their horses. While tacking them up, he asked, “May I see you tomorrow?”

She carefully put her hair up, intoning regretfully, “Lady Alder invited me to a supper tomorrow night and I have already agreed. Did she invite you too?”

“No, I am afraid not,” Thor said. “Sadly, I have burned some bridges with Lady Alder since my return,” he admitted shame-faced. 

“One of your drunken escapades, I take it?”

Passing Loki the reins of her horse, Thor confided, “Yes, and I can hardly claim foul enchantment as an excuse for turning up to her dinner party late, drinking far too much, and vomiting in her umbrella stand on the way out.”

She laughed, “I will put in a good word for you tomorrow. The curse certainly made a mess of things! I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

Kneeling, Thor offered his interwoven hands to help Loki into her saddle. She was light, and he had no trouble hefting her into her seat. Feeling bold, Thor gave her booted ankle a squeeze before settling her skirt properly over her legs. Her smirk told him everything he needed to know.

“Will you send me word that you have gotten home safely,” he asked earnestly. 

Her smile was so gentle and warm that it made his heart skip.

“Of course,” Loki responded.

With practised grace, Thor mounted up, and they rode out at a leisurely pace. Thor watched in awe as Loki tilted her head back to feel the breeze on her face. She looked so serene and otherworldly that his heart skipped. As lovely as his companion was, Thor recalled what Loki had told him about her gender.

“Loki,” Thor ventured carefully. “May I ask you an - _indelicate _\- question?”

Like a raven, Loki tilted her head to the side, regarding him with glittering eyes before she responded, “I suppose… What sort of question?”

Thor took a deep breath and asked, “Do you see yourself as a woman?”

Loki gave him a wan smile and a lopsided shrug as she said, “I am… I am myself. I feel more comfortable in women’s clothes and I never really wanted to be a boy. Still, I think of myself as male, but only in my own mind.”

“Does it bother you that I think of you as a woman,” Thor asked anxiously.

Shaking her head, Loki chuckled, “No, not at all. I do not think I would want to be seen as anything but a woman.” Sighing frustratedly, she told him, “I wish I could explain it better, but I do not know myself. I wish I could be neither man nor woman. Have you read much mythology?”

A little confused by the sudden turn in the conversation, Thor answered, “Er, yes. Some. Mostly Greek and Roman. Why?”

“There are so many stories of people like me in myths,” she said, even as her eyes fixed on the horizon, unwilling to look at him. “Greek, Roman, Norse, Celtic, they all have people like me… I wish I could live openly, as they did. Perhaps our ancestors understood things we have forgotten. Then again, I would likely have been burned at the stake,” Loki chuckled mirthlessly.

“What can I do to make you feel more comfortable?”

Thor relaxed when she extended her hand to him, and he leaned over his saddle to kiss those long fingers. Her face was difficult to read, but he thought he saw fear and weariness in Loki’s beautiful eyes. Before taking her hand back, she stroked along his jaw tenderly.

“Just be patient with me, please,” she murmured.

“Whatever you need, only ask.”

For a little while, they rode together, safe in the deserted countryside. Both of them looked a bit rumpled and messy, but Loki somehow made it look lovely. In his childhood, Thor’s mother had read him stories of King Arthur and Loki made him think of Morgan le Fay. Eventually, they had to part ways before they were seen together. Pausing in the last copse of trees, they looked at each other.

“What should we tell people when they ask where we were,” she asked.

“You tell them you took shelter in the abandoned church,” Thor decided judiciously. “And I will say I returned to the ruins and waited the storm out there.”

She nodded, agreeing, “Alright. I will send you a message when I am home.”

They were close enough that he could reach over and take her hand, placing a kiss to the knuckles. Her fingers were cool and soft, like always. Loki smiled and turned her hand so that she was cupping his jaw affectionately. It was easy to shift his face so that he could place a kiss onto her palm. Expert horsewoman that she was, Loki urged her horse closer to his so that she could lean in. Without hesitating, he kissed her, his heart skipping wildly.

Parting was taking far too long, but neither seemed inclined to hurry the process along. Now that he had permission to kiss Loki, Thor wanted very much to continue. Eventually, she pulled away and pushed her hair out of her flushed face. Gods, she was lovely.

“The sun will set soon,” she commented regretfully. “I do not want to be travelling alone after dark. Turning up in this state will cause enough talk,” Loki joked.

Sighing, Thor stroked her face gently and agreed, “I would not want you in more danger. Please send me word you reached home safely.”

“Of course.”

With nothing further to say and temptation calling them to linger, Loki clucked at her mount and off she cantered. Thor watched for a few minutes before kicking his own horse into a canter, taking another road back into the town. All the while, he prayed that Loki was safe. She had an amazing gift for attracting trouble. 

It took him nearly an hour to reach his lodgings, by which time Thor was tired and hungry. After a hot bath, he donned his favourite dressing gown and retired to his bedroom with a brandy. The maid entered with dinner on a tray and a letter. Much to his relief, it was the promised missive from Loki, who had indeed returned safely. Smiling at her promise to write again tomorrow, Thor tucked into his meal and the evening edition. 

***

It was dark before Loki stumbled up to the door of the house he had let. The moment his key was in the door, it was yanked open, and he was dragged inside by Darcy and Victoria. It seemed both of them had been keeping vigil for his return. He was chivvied inside and fussed over while Darcy ran to fetch tea and Victoria took him upstairs to get changed. 

While Victoria waited on the chaise, Loki disappeared behind the privacy screen to change into a dressing robe and slippers. Presentable, he went to sit at his vanity to do something about his mussed hair. The wind and rain had matted his long, dark tresses terribly and every stroke of the brush yanked at his scalp. Seeing his pained expression in the mirror, Victoria came over to help.

“What happened to you?” she asked anxiously. “Some of the gentlemen are still out looking for you,” Victoria explained as she took the brush from his hand. “Here, you’ll tear all your hair out if you keep at it like that.”

Hesitating, Loki leaned back and allowed Victoria to fight with his hair as he told her his story, “My horse bolted. Thankfully, I found an abandoned church to shelter in.”

“You poor thing,” Victoria gasped. “How are you not frozen solid?”

Loki sighed and chuckled, “I was lucky enough to have had a blanket in my saddle bag and I built a fire. It was hardly luxurious, but I survived.”

“I feel terrible for causing such concern.”

Victoria’s fingers were nimble and gentle as she worked the knots from Loki’s curls. Tired, Loki closed his eyes and stifled a yawn. It had been a long day and having someone tenderly play with his hair made him lethargic. Sighing, he slitted his eyes open like a contented cat and smiled at his friend’s reflection in the mirror. Finding a leaf in Loki’s hair, Victoria wrinkled her nose as she flicked it away. After a few more long strokes of the brush through his tresses, his friend set the brush down on the vanity.

Running her fingers through Loki’s hair, Victoria said, “I am glad you’re safe, Loki. How worried I was! The whole party was scattered by the storm. Lady Sif and a few of us managed to stay together long enough to find our way back to the stables. I do hope everyone else came home safely, but I was most concerned about you.” Meeting his eyes in the mirror, Victoria smirked and told him teasingly, “Mr. Talbot was very concerned. I think you have made a conquest there, my dear.”

Loki’s heart dropped into his slippers at the mention of Henry. They had been flirting rather openly and now Loki was going to jilt him. It was not ideal, but Loki would not lead Henry on or hurt Thor. Henry deserved better, but Loki consoled himself with the fact that he had made no promises to Henry and had done nothing shameful. He would break things off with him delicately and in private, like a lady ought to. Lady Sif would be disappointed to have her matchmaking come to naught, but she was a reasonable woman. Loki thought she would not allow it to mar their friendship.

“Camomile and lavender tea for you, Madame,” Darcy announced as she entered the room with a tray of tea with toast and jam. “Shall I run you a bath?”

“I should let you get some rest,” Victoria said as she patted Loki on the shoulders. “May I call upon you tomorrow morning? I’ll bring Sally Lunn’s famous buns,” she offered. Seeing Loki’s confusion, she explained, “It is like a sweet brioche bread made here in Bath.”

Smiling, Loki agreed, “Yes, that sounds lovely, dear. But please, not too early.”

“Why not make it a lunch visit,” Victoria suggested with a laugh. “I would not wish to interrupt your beauty rest. If Miss Lewis will make her famous chicken pie, I shall bring the sweets and raspberry cordial and some soft Bath cheese_._ It may not be Paris, but England does have some good food here,” she teased.

“I promise to be presentable as of midday,” Loki swore with a grin.

“If I must drag you from your bed, then I shall,” Victoria promised as she pecked his cheek with a farewell kiss. 

Once Darcy had seen Victoria out, Loki relaxed by the fire in his room, enjoying his tea and toast. When his housekeeper returned a few moments later, Darcy was all business. She gathered the dirty clothes and went to run the tub. Humming to himself, Loki munched on his toast, waiting for the bath. It was so lovely to have someone do the little things for him. Maybe he was getting a little spoiled, but he had spent years hauling his own bath water and begging for food. He deserved a little luxury.

When Darcy poked her head in, Loki was stretching his long legs towards the fire. “I’m going to start on the chicken pie. We have roasted chicken with carrots and peas,” she told him. “Do you want me to set aside some cold chicken and vegetables for dinner after your bath?”

Standing, Loki yawned, “Yes, please. Thank you, Darcy.” 

The next day, Loki slept until ten o’clock after a good supper and a bath, and rose feeling quite well. Though he was disappointed that he would not be seeing Thor that day, the promise of an actual courtship in the future made his heart sing. By the time he finished breakfast, Loki had worked up the courage to write Henry and break things off. Sighing unhappily, he went to the writing desk in his parlour and sat down.

Dear Henry,

I have a confession for you. When we met, I had thought my business with a certain gentleman was concluded, and I was free to entertain you. However, it seems I was mistaken. I must beg your forgiveness, as my heart is not mine to give. Had I known this would happen I would never have been so friendly with you. I truly like you very much, but there is another who claimed my affections first. You are a fine man and I do not wish to cause you any upset or embarrassment. I am so sorry.

Your friend,

Mme. Melusine

He did not feel particularly good about the letter, but he knew it had to be done. It would feel even more unfair to do it in person at some social event and Loki could not visit him at home without causing talk. He had learned that even the most even tempered men could turn ugly when rejected, and he did not wish to leave himself open to an angry man making a scene. Thor had promised to court him so Loki could not continue to associate with another gentleman. Besides, while he enjoyed Henry’s company, it lacked the connection he had with Thor. Sighing regretfully, he folded the letter into an envelope and sealed it. Darcy glanced at his solemn face after seeing to whom it was assigned, but said nothing as she left to post it.


	12. The Two of Cups (Art)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> UPRIGHT: Unified love, partnership, mutual attraction
> 
> REVERSED: Self-love, break-ups, disharmony, distrust.


	13. The Four of Wands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> UPRIGHT: Celebration, joy, harmony, relaxation, homecoming
> 
> REVERSED: Personal celebration, inner harmony, conflict with others, transition

By the time Victoria arrived, Loki’s mood was much improved. He had needed to devote an hour to painting before he could relax. While he knew that letting Henry down easy was the right thing to do, it was still difficult for Loki. His friend was eager to show off the local fair, her enthusiasm contagious, and soon Loki was laughing. He had to admit, the cheese and buns were good, though not as good as real French food. Loki teased Victoria repeatedly about her insistence that there was cuisine equal to anywhere in the world to be found in England.

As they sipped their tea and chatted after lunch, Victoria said conspiratorially, “So, Madame, you made a certain gentleman very concerned last night. Mr. Talbot was the first to fetch a fresh horse and return to the country to search for you.”

“I was perfectly fine,” Loki assured her, startled. 

Waving her hand dramatically, Victoria said, “But we knew nothing! You were just gone! In a terrible storm, no less! You might have been dead in a ditch!”

“Did everyone find their way home safely?”

“Oh yes, the heroes returned wet, but otherwise unharmed,” Victoria assured him. 

Sipping on his tea, Loki said, “Well that was very gallant. I am glad everyone was alright. Lady Sif and her close friends are all sportsmen, but some of the others were not the most accomplished riders. Someone could have been hurt.”

Victoria snorted and rolled her eyes in a very unladylike manner as she chortled, “That was my point, my dear!”

“You do know, I am a very accomplished rider,” Loki pointed out.

Throwing her hands up lightly, Victoria huffed, “Honestly! A handsome gentleman spent all night in the rain just to rescue you! That only happens in novels!” Seeing that her friend was not going to see her point, Victoria changed the subject, “You can show everyone that you survived your brush with danger at Lady Alder’s supper tonight. What will you wear?”

The question was simple enough, but Victoria was insistent on helping him choose an outfit. It was only after his friend had turned down the third dress Darcy presented that Loki realized why Victoria was acting that way. She knew Henry Talbot was to be attending the supper, and she thought Loki was still trying to impress the handsome American. No one but Loki and Thor knew how things had changed between them. Victoria was trying to help him, thinking that her friend was excited to see his potential beau again. For a moment, Loki thought of telling her, wanting to share his joy, but, in the end, decided to keep his secret. Now was not the time and it was not his secret alone to tell.

“The supper is nothing so fine,” Loki complained instead. “I will look like a fool in velvet. Really, muslin is more than enough for Lady Alder. I hardly want to attend.”

Victoria wrinkled her nose, retorting, “Who was speaking of Lady Alder!”

Loki laughed and shook his head, saying, “I would like to be comfortable! Besides, I do not wish to make a scene at such a small event. Why bring fireworks to a quiet supper?” he reasoned, jokingly, his smile wry.

Victoria waved her hand at him dismissively as she said, “Oh Loki, you are so obtuse! What of Mr. Talbot? Do you not want to turn his head?”

“I…do not intend to turn anyone’s head,” Loki admitted, uncomfortably.

Seeming to sense a change in the wind, Victoria paused before saying carefully, “You don’t? Has something changed? You seemed very taken with him just the other day.”

Although his friend’s tone was not accusing, Loki felt a little twinge of guilt as he thought of the letter he had sent to the man in question. For a moment, Loki could not meet Victoria’s eyes, instead looking out the window. In the corner, he noted Darcy listening quietly, and he knew it was not just Victoria who wanted an explanation. Sighing, Loki ordered his thoughts and tried to find a way around mentioning Thor just yet.

“Mr. Talbot is very charming, but I do not think we are a good match,” Loki told them reasonably. Flicking a curl over his shoulder, he went on, “Everyone knows he came to London to find a rich wife.”

Victoria dropped onto the bed beside him, her face a complicated mix of emotions as she asked tentatively, “I had thought… It was well known that Mr. Talbot was seeking a wife… and you are so young.”

“Non, non, Absolument pas! I do not plan to marry at the moment,” Loki exclaimed, as if surprised, the lie coming easily after having been said with honesty so often before. “One miserable experience was enough.”

Victoria’s mouth was slightly opened as she inquired solicitously, “You do not wish to marry?”

Loki shook his head and admitted, “My first marriage was not a happy one. Monsieur Melusine was not a kind man. Though I am sure Mr. Talbot is a good man, I do not wish to pursue anything further than a mild flirtation. Besides, he is an American. I have no desire to move to that backwater.” 

Darcy came from her polite position in the corner to take his hand when Victoria clasped the other. It felt good to have the support of friends. Remembering his husband always made Loki feel shaky and a little ill. Letting out a long and slow breath, Loki forced out the fear that nipped at his heart. Victoria rubbed his back consolingly.

“You have no reason to wed if you don’t want to,” Victoria insisted kindly. “I only thought you liked Mr. Talbot. Please, do not think I was pressuring you. In your position, you will never have need to marry anyone, if you do not wish.”

Loki sighed, “I know. It is so infuriating that women and men cannot simply be friends! I enjoy Mr. Talbot’s company and I would like to be friends, but there is no way we can remain acquainted without people assuming there is something more!” Sighing irritatedly, Loki subsided and amended with a caveat, “I may change my mind, but not for Mr. Talbot.” Grinning wickedly, he amended in a sly tone, “perhaps if some very kind, understanding and particularly wonderful man were to sweep me off my feet, I might reconsider. Though, he would have to be something very special.” 

Darcy shook her head and said, “I will make you some more tea.”

“Thank you, dear,” Loki said genuinely. 

“Come now, let’s look to the present,” Victoria urged. “Let’s find a pretty dress for you and go have a lovely time at Lady Alder’s supper. We shall have a fine time, even if Lady Alder is a bit—”

Loki sniggered, “Dull and tiresome? At least she lays a good table.”

They both laughed and returned to looking through Loki’s wardrobe. Determined to cheer Loki after the souring of their conversation, Victoria began acting like a melodramatic theatre star and affecting a terrible French accent. Despite the dip in his mood, Loki was laughing by the time Darcy returned with fresh tea.

Eventually, the three decided on a sweet afternoon gown of black lace over a white cotton dress. 

“I notice you have started bringing color back into your wardrobe,” Victoria noted slyly. “Are you planning to end your mourning, Madame?”

Loki waved her away, “Maybe so, but black is my color.”

*

The dinner was just as dull as Loki had predicted, but there was one unexpected turn of events. Mr. Talbot was not in attendance. According to their hostess, the American gentleman had sent his regrets last minute saying that he was suffering with a headache. Loki made the appropriate noises of surprise, though he had a feeling his letter might have been the cause. Henry would have known he would see Loki at the dinner, and he must have wished to avoid it after being disappointed. Loki was a little relieved to be spared the awkwardness. Victoria gave him a few sideways looks over the meal, but she said nothing.

The dinner was pleasant, but bland, though the food was very good. Upon returning, there was a letter waiting for him on his dressing table. Darcy had placed it there, though she did not ask about it. Her expression was a bit cloudy, and she eyed Loki’s face carefully as she held it out to him. When he saw the seal, Loki’s whole countenance lit up. It was from Thor! Beaming, he hurried to open it, careless of Darcy’s critical gaze. Thor was so warm and affectionate in his address that Loki’s heart fairly sang. 

Dearest Loki,

I hope your evening with Lady Alder was pleasant. You have been the constant companion of my thoughts since we parted. I have spent all day thinking of what I can do to properly court you as you deserve. Admittedly, I have been carried away by more than one grand notion that would be better suited to the pages of a novel.

Do not fear, I will not embarrass you with some loud show. I have turned to a most reliable source in hopes of finding some good ideas. As I suspected, Jane Austen did not disappoint. At Miss Austen’s suggestion, I would like to take you on a picnic in Prior Park. If I may, I will call on you at midday tomorrow. As I promised, I will court you openly. I will be a true Mr. Darcy if it will please you. 

Until tomorrow, I remain yours,

T. Odinson

He was full of bright joy until he saw Darcy’s troubled face. His housekeeper would recognize Thor’s seal and know something was afoot. Loki had not confided in his friend about Thor, and he could understand why she would be concerned considering what she had seen of his behaviour. It would look strange to Darcy that Loki was so pleased by a correspondence from the man she had nearly bashed over the head with a coat rack. 

“That’s a love letter, isn’t it,” Darcy asked, her tone careful. “From Lord Odinson?”

Joy deflating a little, Loki admitted, “Yes, we have an…an understanding now.”

“But what about Mr. Talbot,” Darcy inquired with a frown. “I thought you said you didn’t want to start another affair. You said so. Now you have an understanding with Lord Odinson?”

Sighing as he removed his hair pins, Loki responded, “Yes, I know. I lied. Forgive me, but I was not ready to speak of it. Mr. Talbot is a fine man, but Thor is something special.”

“Begging your pardon, Madam, but you aren’t favoring the lord because of his title?” Darcy asked in a rush. “If you’re having some money troubles, you can cut my wages, but don’t marry a brute who’s hurt you,” she pleaded, dropping his brush to kneel beside Loki and clutch his hands.

Touched, Loki kissed the top of her head, saying, “No, Darcy! Everything is well. I know Thor has not made the best impression, but he is a good man, and we care for each other. Please, don’t worry about me. I know you have not seen him at his best, but Thor _is _a good man, and he has promised to court me openly and respectfully.”

Darcy’s large, doe eyes were full of worry, but she saw how happy Loki was and relented, “If you are happy, Madame. But if he raises a hand to you again, I’ll pierce his rotten heart with a hat pin! You know I will!”

Laughing brightly, Loki said, “I believe you! How lucky I am to have such a fierce defender. Tomorrow, Thor is coming to take me on a picnic and you will see how he treats me.”

“If you say so, Madame, but I’ll keep the hat pin close just the same.”

*

Loki slept soundly that night, and woke positively shining with excitement. With breakfast came a letter from Henry Talbot. It was brief and impersonal. Biting the inside of his cheek, Loki read the flat correspondence with a pang of guilt. Henry was disappointed, though his tone was not bitter. For a moment, Loki tasted regret, seeing a flash of another life with a different man. Causing hurt to someone who did not deserve it always made his stomach turn.

Even so, his heart soon lightened; the promise of a day spent with Thor quickly wiped it from his mind. Almost giddy, Loki tore through his rooms trying to find the perfect outfit. His period of mourning had ended months ago, but Loki had continued to favor black for the drama of it. It was better for business. Not to mention, he did look ravishing in black. Now he wanted to make a very different kind of statement. The dress he finally chose had come from the shop only the day before, and he had been planning to wear it to a charity bazaar later in the week, but now he had a much better use for it. It was lacy and feminine with shades of soft, sky blue and cream; nothing like his usual wardrobe.

When midday arrived, Loki was dressed and so excited he was nearly vibrating and had utterly neglected the post. Darcy still had her reservations, but she could not ignore how obviously delighted her mistress was. When the knock at the door came, Loki nearly ran down the stairs, Darcy following brandishing his forgotten hat. Breathless, Darcy went to the door and waited for Loki to collect himself. Hat in place and composure returned, Darcy opened the door to the house to find Thor on the doorstep. Behind him was a charming, old-fashioned phaeton carriage.

“How very quaint,” Loki exclaimed happily. “Wherever did you find it?”

“That is my secret. I hope you don’t mind that I invited someone along,” Thor teased. Before Loki could respond, a high-pitched barking came from the carriage. A moment later, the head of an Irish Setter pup appeared over the side of the phaeton.

Gasping in delight, Loki cried, “Oh Eliza! Hello darling!”

“I thought you might not mind having her along,” Thor laughed.

Grinning, Thor offered his arm and escorted him to the little carriage and helped Loki to climb up onto the seat. Before he could cross to the other side of the carriage, Eliza was already in Loki’s lap. He was beaming in delight and pressing kisses to the puppy’s head. Upon taking up his position in the driver’s seat, Thor presented him with a corsage of delicate yellow roses bound with a sky blue ribbon.

“Oh, these are lovely,” Loki trilled as Thor helped him to pin the flowers to the lace collar of his dress.

Yellow roses were not exactly the color choice he had been hoping for, if he was honest. Red roses or even pink would have been better and for a moment Loki was very confused. Thor’s letter had been so very romantic that the flowers seemed almost at odds with it. But then Loki realized that their reconciliation, and indeed most of their time together, had been a secret. To the public, they had danced together several times, then overtly favored other people, then had a fight during a crowded ball. That they would be spending an afternoon together would be very surprising to most.

Smiling up at Thor over Eliza’s head, Loki teased, “Your letter was so romantic. I never would have taken you for an admirer of Jane Austen.”

***

Brushing a kiss over her knuckles, Thor said, “Miss Austen is the authority on the heart of the spirited, opinionated lady. How could I not admire her?” Adjusting the lay of the corsage on Loki’s shoulder, he admitted, “I wanted to get you balsam or asters, but I knew how that would look. So, I had to be sly,” he explained. 

With one finger, he pushed aside the wide yellow petals of the roses to show a little sprig of Lily of the Nile. The tiny blue flowers told Loki what she needed to know in their subtle language. Secret love; he saw the understanding in the gleam of her eyes. In her uncharacteristic white and blue gown, she looked like the woman he had spent the day with in his garden. _This is my Loki, the version of herself she is for only me_, he realized with joy.

“You are a vision, Madame,” he told her earnestly. When he saw the ivory necklace at her throat, Thor felt his heart brim with pride that she was so fond of his gift. 

With a click of his tongue and a flick of the rains, Thor got the pair of horses trotting along. Prior Park was a short way from town, which only meant that he could spend time alone in the sunshine with Loki. Eliza seemed perfectly happy to lay in Loki’s lap and get fur all over her fine blue frock. Happily, Loki did not seem to mind. There were many people on the road, and he knew more than one passer-by took note of them. As they rode, they talked. For once, there was nothing of demons or ghosts or the judgement of foolish people. Instead, Loki started them on a passionate discussion of Jane Austen. By the time they arrived at the park, they had bickered about his preference for _Northanger Abbey_ over _Pride and Prejudice_, agreed that Elizabeth Bennet was the best heroine, and decided that they knew several people silly enough to be right at home in Miss Austen’s novels. It was so wonderfully normal. 

When they rolled into the park, the sun was high and bright, the breeze off the water was pleasantly cool. It was the perfect day for a picnic and Thor could not have been more thankful the sky was clear. He had no idea what he would have done if it had rained. All his fine plans would have been ruined and Loki’s lovely dress would have been destroyed. Pleased with himself, he pulled the phaeton up near the grotto and jumped down to help Loki out. She passed him the dog first, after securing Eliza’s leash.

On such a fine day, the park was full of families and couples. Thor saw a few people they knew, which was exactly what they had wanted. By nightfall, everyone would have heard about their picnic. Loki had wanted to be publicly courted like a proper lady and that was exactly what Thor meant to give her. In such a public place, they could spend time together in a socially acceptable manner. 

From behind the seat, he pulled out a basket and a folded quilt. The grotto was the perfect place to set up. With a comically dramatic flourish, Thor placed the quilt on the grass under the trees and dropped to his knees to lay out the food. Wooing a refined Frenchwoman, Thor knew he could not bring just any food. After careful consideration, he had asked his cook to prepare sandwiches with cold roast chicken, watercress, soft Bath cheese, and tomatoes. He also had packed small scotch pies, strawberries and sweet cream, and two large bottles of lemonade. Light and refreshing, just right for the warm weather. 

“I do hope you like strawberries. I was told they were brought in just yesterday,” Thor said as he handed Loki a plate over a very interested Eliza’s head. The puppy gave him big, sad eyes, to which Thor responded, “You know cheese upsets your stomach, silly pup.”

Eliza whined, but settled down by Loki’s side, though she continued to give him pitiful looks. Loki alighted on the blanket like a bird, her skirts settling around her gracefully. Watching Loki daintily place a strawberry to her lips and nibble at the ripe flesh was more sensual than it ought to have been. Her lips were painted a brighter shade of pink by the juice and Thor had a sudden wild desire to feed her each berry by hand so that he could better see her lovely mouth.

Smiling innocently, she told him, “I love strawberries. This all looks delicious. Thank you.”

“Of course, I want to spoil you,” Thor admitted without shame. Settling back on the quilt to eat, Thor asked, “How was Lady Alder’s supper? Did Mr. Talbot attend?” he inquired in his best casual tone, though Thor very much wanted to know.

Loki set down her bottle of lemonade and told him, “No, he did not. I sent him a letter with my regrets that morning and I think he chose not to attend to avoid me. I dislike causing good people upset, but it could not be helped.”

“You have a good heart,” Thor said fondly. “And Mr. Talbot will be fine. A grown man should be able to withstand a little disappointment. You were barely acquainted,” he reasoned.

“I suppose you are right,” Loki sighed, her face downcast. “Still, I may be known as a flirt, but leading on a good man has never been my intention.”

Not wishing to allow the American’s ghost to cast a shadow on their lovely day, Thor quickly changed the subject, “Baroness Herbert is having a garden party tonight. You will be attending, I hope? There is no point in my going if you will not be there.”

At once, Loki’s face brightened in a sweet smile, and she said, “Oh yes, I was invited. The baroness always puts on a good show.”

“She does, indeed,” Thor agreed as he reached over to pet Eliza’s velvety ears. “I heard she has had fireworks from China brought for the occasion. The baroness is not going to let a little thing like a plague ruin her fun. Luckily I did not offend her while I was running wild with the curse. It would be a shame to miss such a party.”

Loki’s laugh was tinkling, making Thor’s heart skip. With her head tilted back in her mirth, the sunlight caressed her pale face, and he badly wished he could trace the lines with his fingers. It gave him such pleasure to be the source of her happiness. Silently, he made a mental note to thank Aunt Gertrude for knocking some sense into him. Of course, she had been the one to scare him off Loki in the first place. How could he have ever thought of giving up on earning Loki’s affections?

Besotted, he told her, “You remind me of a Raphael painting; so bright and full of color.” Seeing her blush, he quickly checked to see if anyone was watching them, before daring to stroke her graceful hand. In an undertone, he confessed, “I want to kiss you, Loki. If only there were not so many people here.”

“_Flatterer_,” she teased, momentarily hiding her face with the brim of her hat. 

“Flattery isn’t fair,” Thor argued. “Flattery is false. I am only saying what men should have been telling you since you were a girl. Your husband must have said the same.”

Thor saw her hand fly to the ivory necklace at her throat, and he sensed her mind had gone to some place else, some place that made Loki anxious. Though he wanted to ask her, he remained quiet, waiting for Loki to come to him with her concerns. He was learning that she was rather like a fawn; she was more likely to confide in him if he sat quietly.

After a few heartbeats, Loki asked, “Thor… It does not bother you that I have been married?”

“No, that is ridiculous,” Thor said seriously as he watched her for danger signs. 

“Even though I am not a virgin?”

“Not at all.”

Lifting her head, Loki met his gaze and told him solemnly, “My past is not… My past is full of dark shadows. I will be honest with you going forward, but, please don’t ask me about my past. There are so many things I wish I could forget.”

Thor had known that Loki had suffered in her life. She had told him about the torment she had endured in the asylum, and he could imagine that more had happened. He could imagine that her family was not kind even before that. He had hoped her husband had at least been kind. Of course, he would like to know everything, but Thor would not force her to relive it. 

Taking her hand under the cover of her skirts, Thor asked, “Did your husband treat you well, at least? May I ask you about that?”

“No,” she said hoarsely. Shaking her head slowly, she whispered, “No, he was not a good man at all.” Sensing Loki’s unhappiness, Eliza crawled into her lap and began licking her hand. “He only married me to disinherit his brother. It was not as bad as the asylum, but I was deeply unhappy,” she admitted as she stroked the dog’s head.

“May I know a little more,” Thor tried carefully. “How did you meet? Why did you agree to marry him?” Flinching at his own curiosity, Thor hurried to say, “Please don’t feel you must answer. I only wish to know you better.”

Without looking at him, she whispered, “Please do not make me speak of it… Just know that he gave me no choice other than to marry him. The asylum was worse, but he made me miserable.”

“You needn’t say anything else,” Thor told her with a gentle squeeze to her hand.

Gritting his teeth, Thor wanted to beat the man to a pulp for draining the joy from Loki. How could anyone have married someone as kind and clever as Loki and treat her poorly? Hearing a sniff, Thor blinked and realized there was moisture on her dark lashes. Under the wide brim of her hat, Loki’s face was hidden from the rest of the park, but Thor could see she was fighting back tears. Kicking himself for his stupidity, Thor cast about for something to say to cheer her.

“Ah, beloved,” Thor said gently. “Don’t cry, please. If you do, one of the gentlemen around here will demand satisfaction for your honour, and then we will be in the papers again.” His joke worked as Loki laughed. Encouraged, Thor went on, “Will you speak for me when I am brought up on charges of public brawling? I doubt I will have many others willing to help. Lady Alder would probably write a letter calling for the noose!”

There were tears in her eyes, but now they were tears of laughter. Pleased to have broken her from her gloomy thoughts, Thor tried a few more jokes. In minutes, Loki’s smile had returned, and Thor had relaxed. Eliza helped by giving Loki puppy kisses. With a little encouragement, Loki even picked up her sandwich again and began eating. He turned the conversation to safer subjects like travel and food and music. Loki was giggling and nibbling on a strawberry as if nothing had broken their dreamy happiness on such a fine afternoon.

When their food was finished, Thor checked on the horses and put the basket and blanket back in the carriage. He took a moment to give Eliza some water in a tin. While he was momentarily distracted, Loki had drifted over to the nearest bed of flowers to inspect them. When he returned to her side, Thor saw that a delicate blue butterfly was resting on her extended hand, its wings slowly opening and closing. The pretty insect crawled lazily over her fingers, and they stood there, watching it in silent appreciation. 

“This is a Holly Blue,” Loki told him quietly, her eyes on the butterfly. “See the dark edges on her wings? That tells me this is a female. Isn’t she lovely?”

“How did you catch her,” Thor asked, his tone subdued to match hers. 

Chuckling, she answered, “I didn’t. She lighted on my hand… It’s something I’ve always been able to do.”

“I thought you were a mermaid, not a fairy,” Thor teased. “Is this part of your witchy gifts or are you just an aspiring aurelian?”

Laughing quietly, she placed the butterfly upon a flower and said, “I am fond of butterflies and moths. Still, I think there is some magic to it. This is just something I have been able to do since I was a child. They just like me.”

“They have good taste then,” he told her as he passed Eliza’s leash to Loki. “Seeing a shimmer of sweat on her throat, Thor suggested, “Why don’t we walk into the grotto over there to get out of the sun? It would be a crime to let that skin of yours parch.”

Offering his arm, he escorted Loki to the cool stone building and out of the sun. They walked slowly, letting the dog sniff and explore while the humans enjoyed the shade under the trees. The breeze off the water was refreshing, and they both enjoyed the touch of it. The view from the bridge was lovely; rolling green hills, trees whispering in the wind, children laughing as they chased a kite, other couples picnicking, families of ducks gliding over the water. While Loki leaned upon the railing to see the ducklings better, Thor glanced about to see if they were alone.

Finding the bridge deserted but for them, Thor observed off-handedly, “Look at that, we have a moment out of sight.” Seeing her lips quirk up into a smirk, he leaned closer and suggested, “We could even kiss.”

Straightening, she faced him with glittering eyes and said, “Why yes, we could.”

Without another word, she took a step back so that she was blocked from view by the stone wall of the bridge. Smiling mischievously, she tilted her head to the side and gave him a quick come hither gesture. Taking her hint, Thor stepped into the shade and placed a kiss on her up-turned lips. They could not linger as he would have liked, but Thor savoured the sensation of her mouth on his. He wanted to grab her waist and pull her close, devour her sweet mouth, and make her sigh. Loki’s fingers curled around his jacket lapel, telling him she felt the same. Eliza jumped up, pressing her paws against his leg, demanding his attention and breaking the romantic tension.

“You have terrible timing,” Thor told Eliza with feigned irritation as he scratched her ears.

When they separated, Loki sighed, “Oh, but this is lovely… If only we were back in your garden, in London. You make me feel like Paris; like late nights soaked in absinthe and hashish smoke spent reading poetry and debating the true meaning of love.” 

They should be making love out under the bright sun, the breeze on their skin as they joined. Thor wanted her, not just physically. It was not a love made for polite, buttoned up society. Theirs was something deep and free and it bowed to no nice convention. If only they were somewhere alone. Kissing her again was all he wanted, but Thor knew it was too dangerous.

“Paris,” Thor echoed, trying to distract himself from the heat in his blood. “I would dearly love to see you in your element. I hear the French are so much freer about these things.”

Beaming, Loki agreed, “We bohemians have very free ideas. If only the rest of the world was so forward thinking.”

“We could go on holiday to Paris when the sickness dies down,” Thor suggested eagerly. 

He was aware that this was asking a lady to compromise her virtue, but he felt Loki would understand he meant no harm. He only wished to know Loki better. They desired each other and it was only social conventions that were preventing them from making love. Thor wanted more than to just bed her.

“Go to Paris together,” Loki asked breathlessly. “How could we manage that? Won’t people talk?” Loki worried her lower lip, drawing Thor’s attention to her kiss-swollen mouth. “That could ruin me,” she fretted, pressing her fingers to her lips.

Taking her hand from her mouth, Thor pressed a kiss to her knuckles, and murmured, “Not if we returned married.” Seeing her eyes widen in shock, he quickly added, “You needn’t answer now. Just think on it. We can take all the time you need, dear one.”

“That is a dangerous thing to suggest, Thor,” she gasped, taking her hand back from him. 

Caressing her flushed face, Thor swore, “I am utterly sincere on both counts.”

Just then, Eliza whined and thumped her tail on the ground, clearly wanting attention. Loki giggled and bent to scoop her into her arms. Pleased to be loved, Eliza wiggled happily as they both patted her. He had known that bringing the puppy was a good idea, but he had not realized how useful she would be in breaking moments of tension. She would be getting extra chicken tonight for dinner.

Absorbed by Eliza’s excited affection, Loki had not responded, but Thor could see she was thinking it over. After some nervous silence, a smile cracked her face as she said, “I could introduce you to my friend, Toulouse-Lautrec, the painter. Do you know him? We ran in a very wild crowd, very glamorous.” She told him excitedly, “If you think you can keep up with us!”

Relieved that she had not run screaming into the hills, Thor grinned and offered his arm to her again so that they could continue on their walk. She had not refused his implied proposal, which was all he had wanted in that moment. Back on her paws, Eliza bounded ahead of them as far as the leash and Loki’s arm would allow. It was too soon to ask seriously, but Thor was glad to see that she was open to the suggestion. The idea of spending glorious nights in Loki’s arms, exploring the wildest parts of Parisian high society at her side was very tempting. That was the kind of honeymoon he wanted. And after? A life with Loki as his wife, his Countess Odinson, would be full of excitement and love. 

With her standing so close, Thor could not forget how tiny her waist was. His hands could fit around her so easily, he so wished he could pull her to him right there in the sunny park. Even if they were married, that would still be seen as unseemly. As they strolled along, Thor saw one of his acquaintances, Nathan Sutherland, walking towards them with a few of his university friends. When he realized who Thor was with, the young man’s eyes went round as saucers as he stumbled. 

“Odinson, is that you?” Nathan called as he jogged over, his grin broad. “I hadn’t heard you were in Bath.”

Keeping his hand firmly on Loki’s where it rested on his arm, Thor responded, “I came to the city just a few days ago. May I introduce my dear friend, Madame Loki Melusine. Loki, this is Nathan Sutherland.” 

Loki extended her hand, but when the young man gave her a smirk, she withdrew it gracefully.

“The Madame’s reputation precedes her,” Nathan told him with a grin that implied he thought he knew the nature of their relationship.

Mood darkening, Thor told him with narrowed eyes, “The Madame is a dear friend of mine, Sutherland.” He could feel Loki shrinking into herself, though her posture remained proud and her face serene, and Thor knew he needed to end this quickly. “Well, Sutherland, we will be off. It was definitely not good to see you. Good afternoon,” he said dismissively.

Before Nathan could say anything more, Thor swiftly swept Loki past him and continued their walk. Sutherland’s smirk rankled him and part of him wanted to turn around and confront the younger man. How dare he imply anything untoward about Loki! Even though she was putting on a show of calm, Thor knew Loki was upset by the way her fingers dug into his arm.

“I do not know what I ever saw in that boy,” Thor grumbled. “I will not be continuing the acquaintance.”

At his words, Loki faltered, asking, “You would cut ties with a friend? Over something so trivial?”

Thor stopped, acting as though he were admiring a particularly splendid rosebush, but his eyes were on hers when he said, “You are not _trivial_, Loki. I have only known Sutherland for the few months I have been back in England. He is not a true friend if he can treat you so disrespectfully.”

“Oh,” she said, seeming a little shaken by his vehemence. Gravely, she told him, “Many people will come to the same conclusion as Mr. Sutherland. Will you shun them all?”

“If I must,” Thor insisted hotly. “Part of it is my own fault. If I had not been gallivanting about London like a buck in heat, people might not assume any woman I escort has warmed my bed.”

Slipping her arm from his loose grasp, Loki turned away from him, saying, “No one thought that of Lady Charlotte. Yours is not the only tarnished reputation, my dear.”

“Hang Lady Charlotte,” Thor rejoined uncharitably. “I should never have looked at her. Loki, I do not care if I lose a few friends like Sutherland. He’s a dissolute, spoiled boy who thinks only of drinking, gambling, and easy women. I will be better for his absence, I promise.”

Even with her turned away from him, Thor could see Loki was fiddling anxiously with the ivory necklace he had given her. If they were not in public, he would have pulled her into his arms and kissed her until she smiled again. Caged by propriety, he could hardly touch her, let alone comfort her as she needed. More than anything, he wanted to cradle her to his chest.

“Loki, please do not let this upset you. It’s better that I leave such foolish connections behind. I am not so young and I need to think of my future. I am an earl, after all. Aunt Gertrude is right that I need to settle down and act my age.”

Sighing, Loki looked over her shoulder at him, her smile thin, when she teased, “_You_, act your age?”

“I can try,” he reasoned, giving her his most winning smile. “Could you help me with that, Madame? You seem to have ordered your own life rather well,” he joked, offering her his arm again. 

Sighing out a little laugh, Loki allowed him to again place her hand in the crook of his arm as they walked on. Eliza had been distracted by a squirrel while they talked, but as soon as they began walking again, she began bouncing around their feet. Feeling her relax as they strolled further, Thor tried to come up with some topic of discussion to lighten the mood and distract Loki. Silently, he cursed Sutherland for raining on their lovely outing.

“Are you excited to see Baroness Herbert’s firework display?” Thor asked as they rounded the pond. 

Seeing the question for the distraction that it was, Loki smiled and said, “Oh yes. I enjoy fireworks, though I admit, I dislike the noise. I have always been sensitive to loud sounds.”

“Then allow me to offer what comfort I can,” Thor offered in playfully overly dramatic chivalry. 

They lingered in Prior Park for another hour before finally admitting that they should return home to ready themselves for the evening. Wanting to make the ride back more exciting, Thor decided to test the speed of the phaeton. Knowing Loki’s taste for adventure, he snapped the reins and the horses took off down the road. Clinging to Thor’s arm, Loki laughed uproariously as they galloped along. With her free hand, she kept Eliza in her lap. They made quite a show and, no doubt, shocked a few of the older people they blew past on the way into town.

***

Darcy met him at the door with a hawk-like gaze focused on Thor. When she saw the happy flush on Loki’s face, the American sighed and gave the man a slightly sarcastic curtsy before ushering her Madame inside. With an almost shy wave to his beau, Loki disappeared back into the house to begin getting ready for the evening. 

“You look pleased,” Darcy commented as she helped Loki out of his coat and hat. “Did you have a good time with Lord Odinson, Madame?”

Beaming, Loki sighed, “Yes, we had a wonderful time. We had a lovely picnic and a turn around the park.” Seeing Darcy’s frown, he laughed, “Oh, don’t look so dower, my dear! Thor is a good man and he makes me happy. We plan to meet at Baroness Herbert’s party this evening.”

“If you say so, Madame,” Darcy grumbled. “Well, let’s get you into the bath and primped for your - prince charming - if you will.” 

Laughing at her distaste, Loki skipped up the stairs to his bedroom, his mood too high to be bothered. Humming to himself, Loki removed his jewellery and carefully placed them back in his polished rosewood jewellery box. Darcy brought him some tea and a cheese sandwich to eat while she ran him a bath. It had been long enough since their picnic that Loki wolfed down the food in short order. 

Soaking in the hot water, Loki could finally think about what Thor had said about Paris. If they ran off to France and returned married, it would be a scandal, but it would blow over in time. They would not be the first pair of socialites to elope. Considering their shared history, most people would not be _that _shocked. As long as the marriage was legal, the gossip would abate. Really, they could even write to the papers back in London to announce their wedding and then take a long tour of the Continent for their honeymoon. By the time they returned to England, their elopement would be old news. 

If things continued as they had been, Loki did not think he would mind being Thor’s wife. Provided Lord Odinson was a man of his word and treated Loki well, of course, which Loki believed he would. He would not rush into things; he would ensure that Thor’s admiration was as constant as he claimed first; gather the evidence needed to convince even Darcy that a future with Thor would be a good one. Although, if Thor proved himself, Loki would really need to consider his future carefully. 

He had to ask himself seriously, did he want to be married again? It would mean an end to his freedom. He had cherished being fully in control of his fortune. There were not many people, especially of his age, that could simply pack up and travel as they pleased. Once he was wed, he would be beholden to his husband _forever_. His money would no longer be his. Even if Thor was the most perfect spouse in existence, Loki was not certain he would be happy. And yet…he could not deny he was intrigued. Perhaps he could write his solicitor to see if there was some way to keep his fortune in his own hands if he married. 

He did not have time to linger as long as he would have liked, and it was dangerous to wander in such fantasies, but Loki enjoyed himself. 

Washed, dried, and pampered with rose lotion, Loki sat in his robe before his vanity while Darcy styled his hair into a sleek chignon with a net of black silk rosebuds and pearls. She left a few loose curls around his face as was fashionable. Wearing a gown of white with a black pattern like the lead of a stained-glass window, Loki chose a set of earrings and a necklace of onyx backed cameos with the profile of the goddess Athena. 

“Black or white gloves,” Darcy asked, holding up both for his approval. 

Tapping his lips thoughtfully, Loki decided, “black, I think.”

As Loki slid on his gloves, Darcy asked, “Are you sure Lord Odinson is right for you, Madame?”

Taking Darcy’s hands in his, Loki told her gently, “Darcy, my dear, Thor is not the man you think. He saved my life and,” Loki bit the side of his mouth, hesitating. “Darcy, he knows about me, how I’m made, and he still wants me. He was cursed, but I freed him, and then he saved my life.”

“Do you love him?” Darcy asked seriously. 

“It is a bit early for that, but I could,” Loki admitted carefully. Making a shooing motion with one hand, he told her, “Now, go have fun this evening at the theatre. Are you going to wear your new pink dress or were you saving it for your postman?”

Darcy rolled her eyes and scoffed, “Why waste a nice frock on a man? I want to make Miss Anna Birch eat her fancy silk shawl in jealousy!”

“Are you still feuding with Lady Alder’s maid?” Loki asked in amusement. Giggling as he packed a fan and handkerchief in his embroidered bag, Loki said, “Well, then you should wear my Italian lace kerchief. Miss Birch will choke on her envy when she sees you in that. And, use some of the orange and lemon perfume to really make her miserable.”

Cackling, Darcy pirouetted away to fetch the things Loki had offered. Shaking his head, he applied a perfume of gardenia to his graceful neck and slim wrists. Darcy’s vicious sense of humor always amused him. He was perfectly happy to share his things with his friend and having been poor, hardly cared to prop up the social hierarchy. 

“You won’t be back before 10 o’clock, right Madame?”

“Don’t worry about me, dear,” Loki assured her as he fussed over the lay of his curls. “I intend to enjoy this night. Take your time tormenting Lady Alder’s maid. If I do get home before you, I am perfectly capable of making my own tea.”

“Can you get out of that dress on your own? Or will you have help?” she asked cheekily, her dark brow arched suggestively. 

Tossing a pillow at her, Loki exclaimed, “What an imagination you have! I can remove this gown on my own, thank you.”

Darcy only laughed and wrapped the lace kerchief over her shoulders. 

*

At half past five, Loki arrived at Dyrham Park to see it transformed into a fairyland. It was a splendid garden full of colored Chinese lanterns, a manor house decorated in flowers and candles, and a dance floor set amid the garden hedges. In the dim light of the gardens, there were plenty of hidden places for couples to find themselves alone. Spaced among the flowering bushes were musicians and servants with trays of champagne and finger foods. With a light breeze playing through the leaves and a sky slowly turning from rose and gold to inky black and blue, stars were winking to life above them. Standing just inside the house, Loki scanned the crowd for one golden head that stood above the rest. 

“You look marvellous, Madame,” a deep voice rumbled just behind Loki. Spinning around, Loki was face to face with Thor, who was smiling down at him. Though he had been expecting to see the man, Thor’s sudden appearance still made his heart thrum like a hummingbird’s wings, beating behind his breast. A rosy hue bloomed in Loki’s pale cheeks. Taking Loki’s hand to press a kiss to his knuckles, Thor murmured, “breathtaking as always.”

Feeling a blush touch his cheeks, Loki said, “Flattery again,” before looking away. But he paid his own compliment in kind. “You look very dashing.”

“As long as you approve,” Thor returned, his grin wicked. 

On Thor’s arm now, Loki walked down into the gardens where the majority of the party would take place. Together, they were easily the most attractive couple there. While Loki wore dramatic black and white, Thor was resplendent in a suit of blue so dark it was almost black. As they began to mingle, it became obvious that everyone was watching them.

Flicking his fan carelessly, Loki commented behind a smile, “Everyone is staring…Do you regret courting me yet? You’ve crossed the Rubicon, my darling.”

Without missing a beat, Thor gave Loki’s hand a squeeze and responded, “I regret not courting you sooner. Let them stare. Let's get some wine.”

As they came close to one of the refreshment tables, Loki felt his heart drop upon seeing Henry Talbot and Lady Sif standing nearby. He had known Henry would be there, but Loki had been so caught up in Thor that he had forgotten about it. Guilt twisted inside him, though he knew that he had done nothing improper. Feeling Thor’s hand tighten on his, Loki lifted his chin and smiled brightly. 

Drawing near to the table and the scowling American, Thor greeted them, “Lady Sif, you look lovely. Evening, Talbot.”

“Lord Odinson,” Talbot said shortly.

Without waiting for any further unpleasantness, Loki grabbed two glasses of champagne and Thor ushered him away. As he delicately sipped his drink, Loki tried not to feel guilty about how he had ended things with Henry. There had been no predicting how that would play out. Henry had done nothing to deserve the snub. Though they had only chatted once at a garden party and danced a few times at one ball, he still deserved better than to be dropped in a note.

Standing under a line of lanterns, Loki stood at Thor’s side and sipped his drink. Even without his hand in the crook of Thor’s arm, Loki would have caused some talk in his gown. Unlike the ruffled and frilled gowns of the other ladies, Loki’s was simple in cut and lacking a bustle. It accentuated his very small waist and tall stature. It was the newest fashion from Paris and rather daring. 

“You're going to be the talk of Bath, my dear,” Thor commented over his glass.

Loki shrugged elegantly, “I am the talk of wherever I go. It comes with being a fabulously wicked woman.”

It was meant to be a joke, but there was a ring of resignation in his tone. The fact was, no matter where he was, or what he did, Loki caused a scandal. His _existence_ was a scandal. Being himself was a scandal. Thor really ought to accustom himself to escorting the personification of scandal. He did not mean to be so salacious and gossip-worthy, it just seemed that everything he thought or did shocked someone.

The American was glaring at Thor’s back as if willing his jacket to catch fire. It made Loki uncomfortable, not just because he was being very obvious and giving the gossips even more to talk about, but because he seemed to genuinely hate Thor. Henry had never even sent him a bouquet of flowers; he could hardly think he had a real claim on Loki’s affections.

As the musicians began to play a reel, Loki set down his glass and forced a smile, saying, “Shall we dance? After last time, I think we have something to prove.”

They really did. The part of their relationship that had taken place in public was not exactly flattering. To those watching, he and Thor had flirted rather blatantly for a short while, Thor saved Loki’s life, Thor left town for a while, then when Thor returned he snubbed Loki for Lady Charlotte, Loki had flirted with another man, and it all blew up on the dance floor of the ball at Middleton. Without any warning or reconciliation, they had been seen together twice, now, clearly courting. Even people not prone to gossip would have questions about that.

They danced and mingled and did their best to seem easy and comfortable with the situation while everyone around them tried to ignore the fact that the last time they had been seen together Thor had left Loki weeping. How would anyone ever understand why they had fallen for each other when so much of the story had happened in secret? They would have to manage somehow because he had no intention of giving Thor up.

Some young ladies of Loki’s acquaintance came to speak with him, their coy smiles and glittering eyes told him they were thirsting for gossip. He could hardly blame them; Thor was one of the most eligible bachelors in England and Loki was a French spiritualist. There was bound to be talk. Wilhelmina Chandler was particularly excited and insisted that Loki join her for tea to tell her all the details, a prospect that Georgette Darling was quick to second. He would need to come up with a good story that did not involve spending an afternoon in their underwear in a ruined church. 

As the night went on, and the drink flowed a little more freely, the tense atmosphere dwindled and Thor and Loki were able to begin winning people over with their charm. Just as Loki was beginning to think they might salvage the situation, he and Thor were briefly separated. A gentleman had pulled Thor aside to discuss some business interest they shared, leaving Loki momentarily alone. Nursing a glass of champagne, he surveyed the crowd and waited for Thor to return, wondering if it was too early to leave. All the scrutiny was making Loki’s skin crawl.

“When I got your letter, I thought you must have had some lover back in France,” the voice could only belong to one person.

Bracing himself for a confrontation, Loki turned to face Henry and said, “I know this must be confusing—”

“No, not confusing,” He cut in, a little bitterly. “It’s pretty obvious why you’re with him.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

He chuckled darkly, “He’s a lord, a very rich lord, so what if he treats you like a dog? With 50 thousand a year, what does it matter if he’s a bully?”

Aghast, Loki stared at him, spluttering, “If you really think that’s all there is, you do not know me at all, sir. There is more between Thor and myself than you know.”

“Oh, I’m sure of that,” he retorted dryly, his dark eyes sweeping up and down Loki’s body. “I think we can all see there’s something between you two.”

Offended, Loki hissed, “If you are suggesting anything improper, you are mistaken! I am a lady and Thor respects me. It’s rich that you would accuse me of choosing a partner solely for money when you are in England, fortune hunting!”

“Fortune hunting,” Henry repeated, feigning disbelief. “If I was, at least I was honest about it. You’re the one flirting with a man that humiliated you in public.”

They were both keeping their voices low and their faces calm, but he could tell the people closest were taking note of their disagreement. Thor’s associate had drawn him to the side, away from the dancing and music, which put a mass of people between them and Loki. As much as he wanted Thor to return, he knew this could quickly devolve into fisticuffs and was determined to avoid causing another scene.

“I have no obligation to explain myself to you,” Loki countered hotly. “My choices are my own, as are the reasons for them. If I thought your objections stemmed from genuine concern for my well-being, I would take them with more civility.”

“It’s not about the money,” Henry said fiercely.

Loki rounded on him like a snake, hissing, “No? What is it then? Don’t try to bring hearts into this, Mr. Talbot.”

“No, not hearts,” he agreed. “I just thought you were above selling yourself to a brute for a title.”

Regarding the American coldly, Loki said, “You know nothing. Not of me, not of him.”

Furious and humiliated, Loki swept away in a rustle of silk, his back straight as an arrow. He had had quite enough for the evening and went to find Thor. His beau was still in conversation with the gentleman, but Loki came up and took Thor’s arm with a bruising grip. Though he kept his composure, Loki’s stomach was in a knot. In a few minutes, Thor had separated himself from the conversation and moved to a shadowy alcove in which they could speak more privately. 

Taking his hand, Thor asked, “What has upset you?”

“I am so very tired of these shallow, vapid people and their rigid morals,” Loki told Thor unhappily. “How I wish we could go some place where there were no eyes on us.”

Glancing around, Thor tenderly caressed his face, letting his thumb trace Loki’s cheek. Thor reminded him in a low voice, “There is always Paris.”

Loki sighed, regaining his composure, and parted from Thor’s arms to take hold of his hands. “Let me think on it,” Loki said quietly. 

“Of course, of course,” Thor hurried to assure him. “As I said, there is no need to make a decision now. I only want you to know that I am serious.” There was a pause as Thor seemed to wait for the smile to return to his face. Loki flashed him a warm smile as he stared down at him fondly. “Now, let’s dance and scandalize all the people who are waiting to judge us.”

Letting out a solitary little laugh, Loki let himself be led back out onto the dance floor, allowing Thor to lift his spirits in the best of ways. 

*

After another turn, Victoria caught up with Loki. His friend appeared at his elbow like a spectre and dragged Loki aside into yet another alcove to demand answers. She was glowing with perspiration, panic perched on her brow. A few strands of hair had escaped her blonde pompadour as she stared, horrified, at Loki. When they were alone, Victoria grabbed Loki’s shoulders and gave him a shake.

“Victoria,” he exclaimed, fighting against her grip as she jostled him. “Ma chérie, what are you doing?” He extricated himself from her grasp, startled.

“Are you being escorted by Lord Odinson?” Victoria demanded in a low whisper.

Rather shocked, Loki stood there for a moment, dumbfounded. “I came alone,” he eventually answered slowly, noting how Victoria was trembling before him.

“But you’re on his arm,” she argued, eyes wide, like she was afraid for him. “I heard you spent the day with him in Prior Park, but I didn’t believe it after what he did to you! What is going on?”

“Why are you so upset?” Loki questioned, as he stepped back a little.

Licking her lips, Victoria pressed on, “Loki, he snubbed you and made you cry, in public!”

Taking his friend’s hands in a firm, but gentle grip, Loki told her, “Dear Victoria, I understand that you are worried, but you do not know everything. Thor and I have an understanding. We quarrelled, but now we are fast friends.”

Staring at him in open shock, Victoria repeated, “An understanding? Why would you have an understanding with a man like that?”

“Victoria, Victoria, please listen,” Loki entreated sweetly. “There is so much you do not know. Thor is not the man you think him. He cares for me. He saved my life!”

“But he treated you so poorly,” Victoria argued, her voice reedy with emotion. Loki was unsure if it was frustration or anger or perhaps sadness. Then she blurted out, “Does he have something over you?”

Loki was so surprised that his lips parted in an ‘O’ before he exclaimed, “No! Thor would never do something so vile! Victoria, what has gotten into your head?”

“You also said you did not want to marry,” she reminded him as though she were grasping at straws.

Sighing, Loki patted her shoulder, saying, “I did, but it is complicated. My dear, Thor makes me happy. Later, let me explain everything. We can have lunch. I promise.”

Victoria was clutching at the lace on her bodice as if she were trying to hold herself together as she tried to make sense of what Loki was saying. Anxious, Loki quickly checked to see if anyone was watching them. The last thing he needed was yet another scene. He wanted to comfort his friend, but he did not know what was really upsetting her. 

“Now is not the time to discuss this, please, but I will! Thor and I have settled things between us. I know he has not always acted like a gentleman, but he has made amends.”

Dabbing at her gleaming eyes, Victoria asked, “What did he do? How could he make up for such behaviour? My dear friend, you are worthy of more than a handsome brute with a large wallet.”

“Please, trust my judgement, Victoria,” Loki pleaded as he squeezed her hands. “He makes me very happy, and he is not a brute, or a bully. I do not care about his title or his wealth. It is his heart.”

He watched her neck as Victoria swallowed hard around her emotions before she said, “I do trust your judgement. It’s _him _I don’t trust. He made you cry,” she argued helplessly. 

“He did, but he has apologized,” Loki assured her kindly.

His friend crossed her arms over her chest and breathed heavily. Flummoxed, Loki could only stare at Victoria as her eyes seemed to shine with unshed tears. He understood why his friends would have objections to him seeing Thor without knowing everything between them, but Victoria seemed to be far too upset. Darcy’s promise to stab Thor in the heart with a hat pin had been endearing, but this seemed like such an overreaction. 

“Victoria, why do you remain so ill at ease?” Loki demanded, getting a bit irritated. 

She opened her mouth as if to speak, her pretty face turning red under the light of the lanterns, but ultimately, she remained silent. Loki could only look on in confusion as his friend sniffled, struggling with her feelings. And then, before he could think of anything to say to sort this nonsense out, Victoria burst into tears and hurried away. Utterly baffled, Loki stood there for a few moments trying to understand what had happened without success.

“Miss Fowlhurst seemed displeased,” Thor commented as he brought Loki a glass of wine.

“I have no idea what just happened. She was furious,” Loki told him in bewilderment. 

Thor rubbed Loki’s back carefully using the shadows to hide the intimacy. The rest of the night was not as pleasant as Loki had hoped. He could have shaken off Talbot’s remarks, but Victoria’s reaction really upset him. Suddenly tired, Loki only stayed until about half past ten. Once the fireworks finished, he had no more energy to devote to socializing. Thor understood why he left, but Loki still regretted how the evening ended.

As he helped Loki back into his carriage, Thor pressed a kiss to his knuckles and said, “I will write you tomorrow. I cannot wait to see you again. Goodnight, dear Loki.”

*

The next morning, Darcy woke Loki around nine with tea and toast and news that Thor had sent gifts. Loki had laughed delightedly when he saw the bouquet Thor had sent him. It was so exuberant; an armload of mixed flowers that proclaimed a dizzying array of affection and love. Good lord but Thor seemed to want to say everything at once and it only made Loki more fond of him. The bouquet was so bright and vibrant it practically shouted Thor’s feelings. 

Looking over the flowers as she put them into a cut glass vase, Darcy asked, “What all does this mean? I don’t even know some of these flowers, let alone the meaning behind them. I know the white lilies are for pure love and red tulips mean declared love. But what are these?” she asked, pointing at sprigs of small pale pink flowers.

“Apple blossoms,” Loki answered. “‘I prefer you to all others.’ Clematis, those purple ones, mean beauty of the mind.”

Poking at some green leaves, she asked, “Why are there weeds in your bouquet?”

Loki chuckled, “_Ferns_, Darcy. Maidenhead ferns symbolize sincerity, humility, magic, and bonds of love.”

“Still a weed,” Darcy said under her breath. “The blue hyacinth means constancy, doesn’t it? Well, that’s good at least. And it’s a _flower_!”

Snorting, Loki shook his head, smiling as he pulled out the note.

_I know you were disappointed by yellow roses. I hope these more accurately display my feelings. _

_Yours, _

_Thor_

“He’s quite serious about you, isn’t he?” Darcy said as she fixed Loki’s bed-rumpled locks, twisting it up into a decadent bun and letting some glossy curls fall around his neck and shoulders.

Smiling at the bouquet where it sat on his dressing table, Loki sighed, “It seems that way. I confess, I am inclined to indulge him.” Darcy made a noise in her throat and Loki laughed, “I know you do not approve, and I understand why, but you do not know the whole story.”

Darcy regarded him with a small frown, her head tilted to the side like a sparrow, then she said with a sigh, “Very well, Madame. But I will be keeping my hat pins sharp,” she informed him with her hands on her hips. 


	14. The Four of Wands (Art)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Sulfur and Silk - Fanart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21737062) by [Lissabeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lissabeth/pseuds/Lissabeth)


End file.
